A few years ago I wrote A Little Bit Peter, an essay about a slight Peter Pan complex--which seems to be primarily a boy thing but has been dubbed Princess Pan in an article by Tracy McMillan that makes me want to hunt her down and punch her in the face (but worry not because Jezebel refutes it beautifully)--I may or may not have had. I say may or may not have because while yes, I don't like the idea of growing up, or maybe a better way to say it is I don't like the life lived by most grown ups, I don't embody the majority of its true hallmarks. I don't shirk responsibility, I don't think the world revolves around me, I'm not afraid of commitment or rejection (well, no more than most people. Who does rejection not scare?), I don't lack emotions (although I often wish I did).
Why do I bring this up now? Other than I need material for my thirty days of blogs?
Today Griffin asked me if I was still seeing "the young boy" I was seeing for about six weeks (you may remember him. The boy I had sex with on the first date in the back seat of my car the night of the guy who wanted to sext? Cutie Pie Court?), and when I told him no, this was his (copied and pasted) response:
Why do I bring this up now? Other than I need material for my thirty days of blogs?
Today Griffin asked me if I was still seeing "the young boy" I was seeing for about six weeks (you may remember him. The boy I had sex with on the first date in the back seat of my car the night of the guy who wanted to sext? Cutie Pie Court?), and when I told him no, this was his (copied and pasted) response:
You guys would never work out
You have some weird obsession with being a kid and he has some weird obsession w growing up
To which my (copied and pasted) response was
Hmm. That's an astute observation, Marthe
But I don't have a weird obsession with being a kid. I'm naturally young
Griffin disliked the second part immediately.
So here's the thing. Yes, Griffin's right that A, who's 21 (don't judge me. He's one of the cutest boys I've ever met with huge dark brown eyes and almost black curly hair and he speaks three languages and and he loves literature and poetry and he writes stories and he has a lot of things in common with me that I can't talk about in this blog plus when we met he told me he was older than 21 and does age really even matter anyway when two people are adults and, umm, actually I think I'm finding a subject right this second for a future post), has a weird obsession with being an adult. He's more determined than almost anyone I know to be professional and make money and buy a house and start his life. Despite that, though, he's really a big huge baby which is, in direct opposition to what Griffin said, why things didn't work out. A may really want adulthood, but he's actually nowhere close.
I, on the other hand, with my "weird obsession with being a kid" really don't act like a kid at all. Do I do and like things that a lot of people my age are "too mature" to do and to like, like push my way into the middle of the madness at and occasionally crowd surf at concerts and dance and mosh around my house while blasting pop punk or easycore or indie or Lil Peep? Okay, fine. I do. Do I maybe wear clothes and have piercings and hair more frequently--but not always--seen on a younger crowd? I suppose. Do people think I'm Griffin and Keifer's sister instead of mom sometimes and have I even once or twice been mistaken for a girlfriend (which is fucking crazy since we all look so much alike especially me and Kei. This is California, not Kentucky)? That's also not wrong. Do I date people a lot younger than people my age usually do? No one who knows me will argue there.
All of these things are my reality, yes; however, in response to Griffin's accusation and that ridiculous post by Tracy McMillan, I have to ask who decides what an adult's life, or an adult, is supposed to look like?
One of the things I saw frequently in my recent quest to learn more about this whole Peter Pan thing is that people who have it are more interested in fun than anything else and that mirrors a line from A Little Bit Peter that reads: "An adult who behaves like a child and believes fun is the most important thing in life is said to have a Peter Pan complex because, clearly, life has nothing to do with having fun."
Now I have to ask: Who says that if I've had the same job since 2000--which I do a fucking kick ass job at if I do say so myself--while simultaneously teaching night school and raising a family and getting an MFA and then after getting that MFA taught two classes per semester at community college for a few years after my day job while still raising that family and pretty much supporting an entire household; that if I've never been late with a single payment on anything in my life and have a FICO score of 799 and not one penny of debt other than my house; that if I take care of things in a crisis like a son's split open eye (twice!) from mosh pits and another Baker Acted son and impounded dogs and a beehive in my wall that because I have a nose ring and a septum piercing and often candy colored hair and a penchant for cute young Colombian boys (and Dominican boys and Japanese boys and Venezuelan boys and Korean boys and Jamaican boys and Sri Lankan boys and Eastern European boys and plain old Wonder bread white boys) that I'm not a proper adult or that I have a weird obsession with being a kid?
Why does my adult have to look like everyone else's?
And why, when already by the time I'm not even 44, my ex-Glenn's best friend (36), my close friend's brother-in-law (41), several of my classmates from elementary and high school (20s to early 40s), and almost my best friend who had a major heart attack and actually died on the table several times (37), are already dead, when a teacher at Griffin's school literally dropped dead at his retirement party, when a teacher from my school went to the doctor one summer and was dead from cancer not even three weeks later, can life not be about fun?
To which my (copied and pasted) response was
Hmm. That's an astute observation, Marthe
But I don't have a weird obsession with being a kid. I'm naturally young
Griffin disliked the second part immediately.
So here's the thing. Yes, Griffin's right that A, who's 21 (don't judge me. He's one of the cutest boys I've ever met with huge dark brown eyes and almost black curly hair and he speaks three languages and and he loves literature and poetry and he writes stories and he has a lot of things in common with me that I can't talk about in this blog plus when we met he told me he was older than 21 and does age really even matter anyway when two people are adults and, umm, actually I think I'm finding a subject right this second for a future post), has a weird obsession with being an adult. He's more determined than almost anyone I know to be professional and make money and buy a house and start his life. Despite that, though, he's really a big huge baby which is, in direct opposition to what Griffin said, why things didn't work out. A may really want adulthood, but he's actually nowhere close.
I, on the other hand, with my "weird obsession with being a kid" really don't act like a kid at all. Do I do and like things that a lot of people my age are "too mature" to do and to like, like push my way into the middle of the madness at and occasionally crowd surf at concerts and dance and mosh around my house while blasting pop punk or easycore or indie or Lil Peep? Okay, fine. I do. Do I maybe wear clothes and have piercings and hair more frequently--but not always--seen on a younger crowd? I suppose. Do people think I'm Griffin and Keifer's sister instead of mom sometimes and have I even once or twice been mistaken for a girlfriend (which is fucking crazy since we all look so much alike especially me and Kei. This is California, not Kentucky)? That's also not wrong. Do I date people a lot younger than people my age usually do? No one who knows me will argue there.
All of these things are my reality, yes; however, in response to Griffin's accusation and that ridiculous post by Tracy McMillan, I have to ask who decides what an adult's life, or an adult, is supposed to look like?
One of the things I saw frequently in my recent quest to learn more about this whole Peter Pan thing is that people who have it are more interested in fun than anything else and that mirrors a line from A Little Bit Peter that reads: "An adult who behaves like a child and believes fun is the most important thing in life is said to have a Peter Pan complex because, clearly, life has nothing to do with having fun."
Now I have to ask: Who says that if I've had the same job since 2000--which I do a fucking kick ass job at if I do say so myself--while simultaneously teaching night school and raising a family and getting an MFA and then after getting that MFA taught two classes per semester at community college for a few years after my day job while still raising that family and pretty much supporting an entire household; that if I've never been late with a single payment on anything in my life and have a FICO score of 799 and not one penny of debt other than my house; that if I take care of things in a crisis like a son's split open eye (twice!) from mosh pits and another Baker Acted son and impounded dogs and a beehive in my wall that because I have a nose ring and a septum piercing and often candy colored hair and a penchant for cute young Colombian boys (and Dominican boys and Japanese boys and Venezuelan boys and Korean boys and Jamaican boys and Sri Lankan boys and Eastern European boys and plain old Wonder bread white boys) that I'm not a proper adult or that I have a weird obsession with being a kid?
Why does my adult have to look like everyone else's?
And why, when already by the time I'm not even 44, my ex-Glenn's best friend (36), my close friend's brother-in-law (41), several of my classmates from elementary and high school (20s to early 40s), and almost my best friend who had a major heart attack and actually died on the table several times (37), are already dead, when a teacher at Griffin's school literally dropped dead at his retirement party, when a teacher from my school went to the doctor one summer and was dead from cancer not even three weeks later, can life not be about fun?
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