In an Adult World

My “baby” sister Abby remarked that this year’s family vacation will be our last one as children. She meant that next year my “baby” brother will be eighteen and so we will all be “adults”. I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not. For, apparently, it will take me thirty-three years to reach adulthood. Not sure what that says. But I will say this: I’m the only one, besides our parents, who can drive the rental car this year. Because I am the only one over twenty-five. Hah.

But, I’ve learned yet again this week, that it takes some people the entirety of their lives to reach adulthood. Regardless of the fact that they may hold a job, be married and even have kids (whom, I assume, they hope will grow up to be mature adults despite the bad example). And just for the record, I am not talking about men.

You know, my parents raised me to grow into a kind, mature adult who would go out into the world in whatever capacity God had for me and get along in life, despite all it’s ups and downs. I guess some parents don’t expect that of their kids. Which is why I have been thrown back into elementary school this week – just as I have often in this job I hold. I hate it.

I wasn’t homeschooled until I was in 5^th grade, so I went to elementary school. For the most part, I enjoyed it and have no horrible scars remaining. Except one. I guess you could call it bullying, but it was just girls being girls. You know, you didn’t know going into the school that day if your “friends” would be your “friends” because they had decided to take a dislike to, well, blue eyes. And so for the rest of the week you’re given the cold shoulder and ignored because they don’t like blue eyes. They whisper behind your back, making the other girls in class not like you either. And if you’re within a two mile radius when they get into trouble, it’s your fault. That addition problem they missed? You’re fault – you blinked at them. The sentence they couldn’t find a noun in? Your fault – you dropped your pencil. Didn’t know the capital of the US? Your fault again – you sneezed.

I gladly left behind that part of being eight years old, but I know someone who didn’t. And she’s back – like a boomerang. She leaves our company, she returns. She leaves, she returns. Now we’re on round three and this time I am seriously considering beating her to the punch and leaving myself. Because I don’t do eight years old anymore. I don’t do being treated like I’m a little better than her dog. Or being blamed for saying “no” when, in her opinion, I should have said “yes” – and then being tattled on. Or watching her do the same to the nurses, the social worker, the other marketer: namely, everyone but herself. Why? I don’t think she likes blue eyes. Well, that was so yesterday. Today she doesn’t like brown hair. Really? Did we not grow up?

I realize that the public school education is seriously lacking. If God ever gives me children, they will NOT be subjected to it. But I have to say that it does, apparently, prepare you for the real world. Which, I guess, means I will never get out of elementary school.