YOUNG: Giving up on growing up

It occurred to me the other day that I can't really refer to my peers as kids anymore. Many have added vodka to their orange juice. The best Halloween costumes are no longer the scariest ones. And while I don't know from personal experience, I'm told that sleepovers no longer consist of pizza, "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" cartoons and epic battles between Power Rangers action figures and the forces of evil. Although what could possibly be more important than saving the world from horrible monsters is beyond me.

And that means I probably can't call myself a kid anymore either. Being 19, I can get away with the teenager tag, but that's just a short-term solution. Really, the only age classification that might work is, well, adult. Sure, I can qualify it by saying young adult, but that's really just a sub-group. It doesn't change the terrible truth ... I'm a grown-up.

You have to understand what a significant and momentous realization this was for me. It's like being a radical leftist in college and mellowing over the decades as real life gets in the way, and one day you realize that you're voting for Ron Paul and the Libertarian Party. Major changes can sneak up on you if they evolve slowly enough. Clearly this wouldn't have been as shocking to me if I'd been taught creationism at school in Kansas. Then I'd have discovered adulthood in six days and then taken a nap, and you all would have been spared this week's column.

I've switched sides in the epic struggle between tykes and tyrants. To steal a joke from the 2005 time capsule, this must be what Johnny Damon felt like. I'm not quite Benedict Arnold, but I certainly feel like I've betrayed my childish roots. You see, grown-ups are to kids what leashes are to dogs. Yeah, they're necessary to avoid getting grabbed by the authorities, but there sure is a lot of fun to be had in between slipping them off and getting hit by a truck. It's difficult to make the switch between dog and leash, and I'm still coming to terms with it.

So if I've got be an adult, I might as well understand exactly what that entails. Obviously I've gained some new opportunities, with jury duty being the most virtuous if not the most exciting. In a couple of years I'll be allowed to consume fermented beverages; I share classes with people who already do, and some of them are even legal. I don't have to see a pediatrician anymore, which is either good or bad depending on how you feel about "Rugrats" band-aids. But I get the sneaking suspicion that all those novelties are just a counter to all the things I've lost now that I've shuffled off that adolescent coil.

The responsibilities of age now preclude me from the most amusing of endeavors. Oh, there's nothing really forbidden to me now, with the possible exception of the McDonald's ball pit. I could, if I so desired, order french fries at a fancy restaurant or bring a coloring book to church, but then I'd attract the kind of attention that even a reality show starlet would find uncomfortable. I can't bring a baseball glove to Fenway without looking like a bigger loser than the world's worst sumo wrestler. I'd argue that wearing a glove is the safest thing to do, but those guys who snag foul balls one handed without spilling their beer somewhat undercut my point.

Adults trade in those kinds of activities and privileges for new ones and I suppose I can see the reasonableness of that. A grown-up really shouldn't steal a spot on the carousel from some little kid, no matter how cool Seabiscuit is. So I can appreciate those kinds of changes and ultimately deal with them. But I'm also expected to alter my tastes. Not in food, obviously. Corn is disgusting no matter how old you are. No, I'm expected to give up my taste in movies, TV shows, games and every other time wasting enterprise. And that's the real problem I have with adulthood.

I'm willing to accept that I've outgrown "Barney" - it's been at least two months since I sang the "I Love You" song - but I'll douse myself with ketchup and leap into a shark tank before I renounce "Mary Poppins" and "Avatar: The Last Airbender". Why are we expected to abandon the things we most enjoyed as kids? There's usually a pretty darned good reason we liked them. Fun things don't suddenly stop being fun just because you've gotten older. I, for one, fully intend on incorporating the best parts of my youth into my adult life. Maturity is great, but so are Super Soakers.