You Can't Make Me

All through adulthood, I've wondered when I am going to feel like a grown-up.

I thought maybe 21 was the magic age. Then 30. Then 40. Then 50. Then I gave up.

I'm not sure if this is a byproduct of being the fifth-born in a brood of six. Or if it's just my personality type. But in a room full of adults, I still have the uneasy sensation that I'm an imposter.

Lucky for me, I married someone who is also childlike in many ways.

Appropriately, on our first date we saw an animated feature, and that seemed to have set the stage for our life. It quickly became apparent that we were never going to be on the fast-track to a vice-presidency. We would always be "those parents" who brought unhealthy snacks to school and sporting events. And whenever asked to volunteer, we would duck.

Neither of us feels like we've figured out life. We still act like neophytes in the learning department, eager to grasp new concepts, hungry for knowledge like starved rats in a cheese factory.

Our house may look like an annex to the Cleveland Public Library, but it does feel like a home. And, in spite of everything, we laugh. A lot.

Alas, our wicked sense of humor has found its way to our son. When discussing what Christmas gift to get his dad, he replied, "How about an urn with a plaque that reads, 'coming soon'?"

There are three ways for children to learn lessons from their parents. One is by imitation, the other is to hit the reject button and head in the opposite direction. And then, there is a third way. To cherry pick the things you thought your parents did well, and let go of the rest.

Obviously, what we let go of was being an adult.

Although, come to think of it, my dad was an unlikely prankster. We occasionally did see my parents being silly. And, in a drawing of my father-in-law on his retirement, he is depicted with a plunger in his hand.

So I'd say, yes, we can blame at least some of this on our parents.

I guess our kid is doomed.

Sorry, Joe.