The Square Life

In the third grade, my best friend was Jimmy Stewart. Jimmy lived up around the corner and used to sleep over every other weekend or so. We’d try to stay up all night dreaming all sorts of big dreams, most of which revolved around two staples of growing up in the 80’s: heavy metal and ninjas. We learned what we knew from the neighborhood heavy metal ninja Doug who lived across the street.

Our greatest scheme ever, though, was all our own. One night we hatched a plan to build a helicopter and fly to France to rescue two cute French girls we figured were in some sort of danger. The helicopter would be made from things readily available to 8-year old boys. A lawn mower engine. An old rotating sprinkler. Whatever we thought wouldn’t be missed too much from our parents’ garages.

Fast forward 22 years or so. I’ve moved several times since then (losing touch completely with Jimmy), survived high school, gone to college, completed 2 ½ degrees, and traveled a bit. I’ve landed my first real job and I’ve quit my first real job. I’m certainly taller than I was, and I can even grow a beard now. But closer inspection would show that the only real difference in those 22 years is that I’m older.
I like doing the same things I always have, but the difference is now I can do them all the time. Ninjas are still awesome. Helicopters are still cool. And I’ve rediscovered heavy metal recently. If I want to I could even move into a loft apartment and put in a trampoline and bunk beds. I don’t have to get a haircut, and I don’t have to brush my teeth (but I do). And everyone thinks this is just fine. My second childhood. Endless summer. I’m officially one of the Lost Boys.

I’m actually living the life that every boy imagines when he thinks of being an adult. I stay up until whenever I want. I can hang out with my friends every day and play sports or video games or sports video games. Despite my Mother’s best efforts, I eat a diet consisting of breakfast cereal, bananas, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and chocolate chip cookies. And do you know I can even drive a car whenever I want? Seriously.

Life can be tricky, though, even for Lost Boys. For example, I’m still afraid of the dark. By now I’ve learned more about what is really out in the dark corners of the world, and those things are sometimes scarier than the monsters of youth. I still put on a brave face when challenges come along, even though inside I’m the same kid who cried when he thought he’d missed school picture day. And it still hurts my feelings when someone I like doesn’t like me back quite as much.

More surprising is that as I approach each new phase of life; I still feel the same as I always have. That is, I don’t feel quite the way I thought I would. As I started high school, I didn’t feel like I imagined high school students felt. The same could be said of starting college, or graduating college, or going back to college again. I certainly don’t feel now like I imagined a 30-year would feel, and even my Father confesses to feeling the same as he always has. And that’s the thing. I still feel the same as I always have. New life chapters. Same old Chaz.

Much is made of growing up. Entry into adulthood is sometimes described in terms of replacing childhood interests with new ones or accepting responsibility. But I think life largely takes care of doling out responsibility whether we want it or not. New opportunities and challenges can arrive at any time.

Perhaps then, growing up is nothing more than greeting each new situation by saying, “Huh, so I guess this is it,” and then figuring it out as you go along. Maybe it’s enough to just make the most of your current scenario and keep your eyes open for whatever is coming next. Maybe there’s no need to abandon childhood dreams.
I don’t know what happened to my friend Jimmy, but I’d like to think he made it to France. I can picture him landing his helicopter, saying, “Huh, so this is France,” and getting on with finding his girl. I can even hear the heavy metal as he rescues her from her ninja captors. Always puts a smile on my face.