Oh, and I felt like an old fogey when 70s stuff came back. “I used to listen to that music when I was—wait a second…”
Buy cheap now and get something better later has been a lifelong habit. Now at 46 and we’re finalizing our house, the realization hit home that this is going to be it. Not the house (which we’ll probably leave at some point) but many of the things which will go in will be good for the rest of my life. Sure, we can get different things down the road, but it’s time to buy the matching pots and pans.
Japan glamorizes young girls – many of the cover girls are 17 or 18 – and you realize that you’re an adult not only when you’re the same age as their parents but also when you would rather date their mothers to have an interesting conversation.
When I joined the company, I went back to the States for orientation. Most of my class were younger, although there was a guy in Tech Pub who was my same age. Walking to another building one day, I headed towards the closest entrance, to go through the door clearly stating “NOT AN EMPLOYEE ENTRANCE.” The group sort of hesitated, and then Tech Pub said, “If Tokyo does it, we’re OK.”
This occured last week actually. I was visiting my parents for Thanksgiving. The day after, my father and I went out for breakfast. We were sitting over the after-breakfast coffee just bitching about work. My father complaining about the unfair treatment at his job, me complaining about the low wages and lack of benefits at mine.
For some reason it suddenly hit me: he is no longer talking to me like I’m a kid. He is talking to me like an equal. I’m 23 btw.
Can’t recall exactly when adulthood hit me. Kids starting to look up at me and expect adult-style directions as to what to do in situations; when my mum died, it was like a mantle had been passed, and I knew, as an adult, I was now responsible for what happened to her remains. I’ve handled my own accounts and bills now for ten years, but while mum was alive and we lived together, I handled my share of the outgoings, as well as paid board.
It’s crept up on me, as has all my body’s increasing changes with regard to vision, greying hair etc. Don’t want to make the hair look any younger, though – I’m proud of the grey.
This is another good one. Lately I’m having long, involved conversations with my mom about how she should deal with her screw-up sisters, and with my dad about whether or not he should leave his current job when his contract’s up, and that’s all a little new and deep. Not that we didn’t talk a lot before, but actually being viewed as a reasonable and informed source of advice and insight is something entirely different.
I’ve had a series of moments here and there, but there’s one that stands out.
I was bathing my firstborn. She was about 8 months old. She pooped in the tub. I sighed, took her out, and drained the tub to clean it. While the tub was draining, she pooped on the floor. I cleaned the tub, refilled it, and put the baby back in the tub and cleaned the floor. While I was cleaning the floor, she pooped in the tub again.
I used to wonder how grown ups could stand to clean up the nastier messes of childhood. It was then that I realized that they do it because they are the grown up and they have no choice. The mess wasn’t going away on its own.
First I was gonna say - when Mom was diagnosed. I was 19. Then she died, I was 23. But I was already out of the house in an apt with my sister by then.
Then I was going to say - still 23, when I was held up at gunpoint on the streets of DC. Broad daylight at 7 am on my way to work. REALLY makes you look at life and your world in a completely different way. Cynical doesn’t begin to describe it. I became downright crotchety.
But I think it was when I had my own apartment, all by myself. I didn’t have to creep in quietly, I didnt have to show up there at all for days if I didnt want to! No one to check in with, no one to worry that you’re worrying by staying out too long and having fun. (older sister roommate was quite the Mother Hen, and I lived with her for 5 years.) I was calling my own shots, finally, and I only had to wait until I was 28. Grand times.
The second time I got sick when I was living on my own. The first time hit me like a ton of bricks. I spent the first day coping with the idea that I actually had to make my own tea and soup and do my homework. (I was a freshman in the dorms and everyone was sick and bitchy, like they all are that first winter.) The second time, though, I grumbled, went to the store and stocked up on supplies, and came home and put on a sweater. Then it hit me.
Like lots of people have said, I too, don’t notice it most of the time, but that was one of those moments.
When I saw an attractive teenaged girl wearing a crop top, really low riding jeans with her thong clearly visible. Instead of thinking “Rowr, I wonder if that pretty young thing is legal.” I thought “What kind of parents let their young daughter go out looking like that??? She can’t be more than 14! The hell?”
I came so close to saying “Kids today!”
The other time that it really struck me that I was an adult, was when I went to a walk-in clinic to see if I needed stitches, and the doctor was younger than me.
The first time I stood up and represented someone in court. It was an easy plea–he just got a fine–but damn if it doesn’t make you think. It’s a pretty awesome responsibility to go from a professional student to being at least somewhat responsible for someone’s freedom and future, especially when that someone is a complete stranger.
So…what kind of washer/dryer set?
Swallowed, since I have no particular career aspirations and continue working as a temp, I am often being supervised by younger people these days. Oh well.
I never thought about it when I was younger and it’s something I’ve only come to realize as a parent, but freaking out in extenuating circumstances is a luxury. So is losing control when you’re mad. Both cease to be options once you have a kid because they catch on so easily and reflect your emotions and reactions right back at you. Realizing that, for me, was a major sign of adulthood.
This is something that was driven home once more last night when my son developed an acute respiratory infection and stopped being able to breathe due to the mucous in his lungs. It’s happened before, so I know what to do and what to expect, but just knowing that I need to stay as cool as possible to keep my son calm is a little daunting for me, given that I come from a long line of overreacting females.
For the record, he’s better now. We took him to the doctor this morning and they pronounced him healthy - they said that last night should be the worst of it and that he just had a minor infection. Apparently his lungs are clean, fever is gone and he’s good to go. It sure the hell didn’t seem minor when I was holding him in my arms while he struggled for air, though. Funny how quickly they rebound - I never rebound so quickly from nights like last night.
I can’t believe I missed this. This is a great moment, too. I argued about things with my dad my whole life–philosophy, religion, politics. My parents always placed importance on me thinking for myself. They always respected my ideas, but during our conversations they explained their opinions and taught me. I’m not sure when it went from that to just a conversation between equals, but it has. About a year ago, though, my dad wrote a story and asked me to proofread it for him, and I did and gave him some feedback. A few days later, in a phone call with my mom, she mentioned that he’d read over my notes and turned to her and said, “Well. She’s actually grown up, hasn’t she?”
Bolding mine.
This is pretty much how it hit me that I was now an adult except I was driving home that day.
The first hint of adulthood came three years ago when I moved out by myself. No more roommates to lean on I had to do all the “living” stuff by myself.
The second hint came in February of 2006. I just got my tax return and immediately went out and bought a $1000 couch. This was the first piece of big furniture I ever bought. Everything else was hand me downs.
But it finally really hit home earlier this year. I was driving home kind of bummed out from a hard day at work and I was thinking I’m going to get up in the morning and go right back to that place. Which lead to me thinking I’ll probably be doing the same thing for the next couple of years and then I thought I had been doing this same job for almost eight years now and then I thought I’m going to be 29 this year. That’s when it hit that I really was an official adult even if I still feel like an older teenager.
I can point to exactly when it was for me.
I was about 25-26, and at a family gathering, hanging around with the menfolk, and my Dad and uncle were griping about taxes & other adult things, and they wanted to know my honest opinion on things.
I realized that somewhere I’d turned some kind of corner, and was now a fully-fledged adult who 50 and 60-something men wouldn’t be afraid to ask for advice on important things.
Sorta drove it home: I quit drinking when I was 28, and didn’t go to bars for many years thereafter. During those years, I didn’t have much contact with teenagers or people in their early 20s. Fast forward to my mid-late 30s, when I’ve put a band together and we’re playing our first gig in a bar. I looked around at the 21-22-year-olds, and suddenly realized why all those older people called me a “puppy” when I was 21.
Really drove it home: Last year I was casually/jokingly* flirting with a cute, 19-year-old blonde girl at work. At one point I asked her how old her mom is. Her mom is a year younger than me.
- Her boyfriend is about eight feet tall and made of springsteel and rawhide. I know better than to seriously flirt with her
It was just this year, shortly before my birthday. I asked for a dishwasher from my spouse, and meant it (our old one was essentially dead in the water, pun intended).
Damn, that dishwasher is sexy. I still get a little excited about turning it on and not hearing it run.
I think I am approaching grown-up-ness, and I’m not sure I am in favor of it. 
I don’t consider myself a grown-up quite yet, but the first time I was compelled to work overtime just to make ends meet, it drove it home to me that I was no longer a kid. Most eye-opening experience of my life. I lost 15 pounds that summer because food was scarce and I was always on the go, between keeping my apartment in working order, working my ass off and taking care of school-related issues. I could no longer sleep in and bum around all day and hope that by talent alone I would make it in life; I had to work to get what I wanted.
The first time that the idea of backseat nookie seemed cramped and claustraphobic.
My first tour in Viet Nam.