Dear Boy Who Said, When his Sister Switched Seats With Him at Great Clips, “Good, Now I Don’t Have to Sit Next to the Adult,”
I get it. I do. Adult strangers make me nervous, too. If I can help it, I sit on the aisle or sandwiched between people I know so I won’t have to sit next to adult strangers. But I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.
See, I am no adult.
Exhibit A: I can’t drive. Adults can drive. It’s a true fact, proven by science. See, my eyes don’t work very well, and my body is clumsy, and it means that people don’t often treat me like I’m an adult. Think about every time you really, really, really wanted to go to the movies, or get ice cream, and mom and dad wouldn’t let you– even if it was for a very good reason. Now, multiply that feeling by like fifty. (Multiplication is tough, I know. Let’s just imagine this feeling is a big feeling.) I can’t go where I want to go or do what I want to do, like adults can and do. I have to depend on adultier adults to help me. It means that sometimes, even though I’m old, I feel very, very small.
Exhibit B: I say things like “adultier.”
Exhibit C: My job is to make up stories. And sometimes I draw pictures and people give me money for that! And sometimes I play with babies and people give me money for that! So, basically, I get paid for playing pretend. That is not a job for an adult (but I love it!)
Exhibit D: Secretly, in the quietness of my heart, I’m still a little bit scared to cross the street alone.
I don’t blame you for not wanting to sit by me! That’s okay! You should do what makes you feel comfortable. But if it’s just because I’m an adult, you’ve got it all wrong. If I’m an adult, I’m a badult (because I’m bad at being an adult, not because I’m a mean grown-up). Who knows, maybe one day you’ll end up being a badult, too?