Groan Up

Peter Pan was right: growing up sucks.

Once you’re toilet-trained, there’s really little reason to advance: school, work, paying taxes, shaving, being a responsible parent—they’re all way more trouble than they’re worth.

Given the choice, the wise choice is to remain a kid for as long as possible; all this nonsense about growing up and taking responsibility for yourself is just that: nonsense. If I could still get away with somebody else making my bed and going to work so I could stay home and putter about—even if it meant having to go to school for a few hours a day—I’d take it.

Certainly, I’ve managed to extend certain aspects of my adolescence for as long as possible—riding bikes, enjoying the same mind-altering substances that made ninth grade palatable, wearing Converse All-Stars—but I’ve nevertheless had to succumb to certain unavoidable exigencies, including becoming a wage-earner, a tax-payer, and someone who goes to the dentist of his own free will at least twice a year.

I even have a pair of Hush Puppies shoes, although I don’t wear them all that often.

Grown up; it’s more like groan up.

Of course, I really shouldn’t complain. There are aspects of adulthood that make it somewhat worth it: the ability to walk into a bar and have a frosty cold beer at any time, the privilege of voting for government officials who inevitably let you down, and the fact that no one nags you about going to bed at a certain time. Certainly those benefits far outweigh having to get up when it’s still dark outside to go to work, or getting to lie awake at night wondering how you’re going to pay your mortgage, or being the one who gets to pick up all the dog poo in the backyard.

But we can all look forward to the inevitable reversion in old age.

“Life,” said Ronn Lehmann, “goes from dependence, to independence, to Depends.”