Growing pains

Saturday night, 11 p.m. I had just returned from watching movies at a friend’s house. The… Saturday night, 11 p.m. I had just returned from watching movies at a friend’s house. The night was warm and still relatively young, and I found myself suddenly bored.

So what’s a 21-year-old to do? I wondered. Gather friends and indulge on half-price food and full-price drinks at a local eatery? Boogie down at Club IG? Locate a beer-drenched South Oakland party?

No, that night I did not act like a typical 21-year-old college student. Instead, I took the 7-year-old route to a good time.

I opened a lemonade stand.

It took a bit of work – convincing my roommate to join me, stirring up a pitcher of Country Time, making an eye-catching sign – but in less than 10 minutes a full-fledged lemonade stand was born, on the sidewalk in front of my stoop.

I am not sure what motivated me to do this. It wasn’t to make a profit – definitely a good thing, since the night yielded zero customers. A few people passed by and shot me a smile or look of confusion, but no one actually wanted to purchase a glass.

Why might a soon-to-be college senior develop the idea that she must have a lemonade stand? This is a question that I struggle to answer. And the lemonade stand is certainly not my only recent act of immaturity.

Everyone has an inner child. I am beginning to think that mine is terribly hyperactive.

Even when I am around people my own age, I tend to feel significantly younger. Perhaps it is because there are certain things that most big people do from which I refrain. I don’t curse. I don’t do my own taxes. I drive rarely and have pumped gas exactly once.

But the influence of my overgrown inner child is more recognizable by the childlike things I do than the adult things I neglect.

The big kid inside of me has made me a very silly person.

I have a tendency to randomly ask people to arm wrestle.

I like to drink all my beverages through straws.

I regularly challenge classmates whose names I don’t even know to tic-tac-toe.

I laugh about 80,000 times a day.

At parties I beg people to play a round of telephone.

In short, I often feel like a very tall 7-year-old college student, a condition that has its advantages and disadvantages.

The good thing about being truly young at heart is that you have the ample opportunity to laugh and make other people laugh. Anyone whose age is still in the single digits is prone to collapsing into a fit of giggles at any given moment. The stimulus can be something as simple as realizing you have a dab of spaghetti sauce smeared on your nose or feeling your dog lick your toe. Little kids and grown-up kids alike can easily appreciate the humor of everyday life.

Conversely, children are inherently funny, I think mostly because they are not afraid to laugh at themselves. This is a quality I am trying desperately to maintain. When I am walking around Oakland by myself, running errands or going to class, I often start laughing spontaneously over a stupid, inconsequential thought that for some reason makes me happy, like the day I realized, Wow, green really is my favorite color.

To have the impulsivity and innocence of a child and the freedom of an adult is in many ways a blessing. When I get to do “adult” things, they often feel strangely fresh and magical. I adore writing checks and going to the bank. I enjoy using a highlighter when I read my textbooks. I love meeting people for coffee because it makes me feel grown-up, though I usually order hot chocolate or tea.

There is, of course, a downside to drinking too heavily from the fountain of youth. Sometimes I wish people would say, “Betsy, that’s a really insightful comment you just made,” or “I look up to you and want to ask you for advice about something important” or “I really respect you and want to know your opinion on this Serious Issue.”

But when your friends are accustomed to you opening your mouth only to say things that are funny or silly, you create a trap for yourself, making it very difficult for others to take you seriously.

And boys. Many a fellow may be amused by a childlike sense of whimsy, but it seems that few boys can take romantic interest in a girl whose ideal date would involve playing UNO and eating lots of sugary snacks.

Ultimately, for better or for worse, I know this is who I am: a 21-year-old who still sleeps with a stuffed panda, loves Disney movies, asks fellow college students what grade they are in and occasionally operates a highly unsuccessful lemonade stand.

Perhaps someday I will grow up and become a full-time citizen in the land of maturity. But until then, I would just like to sell enough lemonade to buy myself a Ring Pop.

Elizabeth Bowen does not believe in germs but still thinks there might be a Santa Claus. E-mail her at elbst27+@pitt.edu.