Growing up is optional
But it's not really, and here's why....
Biscuit and I were looking at the vegetable patch in the back garden. I stood with my hands on my hips and my head tilted to one side. Biscuit flapped his wings beside me and hovered at shoulder height, his little scaly face tilted in the opposite direction.
“It’s the broccoli again.” I sighed, digging my hands into the pockets of an enormous old coat I’d found hanging in the hallway.
“Yes.” Biscuit agreed sadly.
We stood and watched the broccoli forlornly together for a while. It was the broccoli that had brought us to the garden in the first place. We’d been in the kitchen, trying to guess what the pretty yellow flowers that had suddenly appeared in the garden were. We didn’t remember planting anything last year. In fact, we didn’t remember ever having planted anything out there.
“It’s bolted again.” I pointed out. Biscuit slid his little eyes towards me for a moment and then huffed gently.
“You’re really proud that you learned that word, aren’t you?” He asked and I chuckled. “You think it means you’re a proper gardener.”
“I’m in the garden, aren’t I?” I said defensively. “And it’s cool that there’s a name for when a leafy green grows a flower out of stress.” Biscuit rolled his eyes.
“I can’t believe we’ve done it again this year.” He pointed out. “We promised ourselves we wouldn’t let it happen this year.” I nodded sadly and the silent vigil for our lost broccoli continued.
“Cuppa?” I suggested eventually.
“Cuppa.” Biscuit confirmed and our grief was closed, so we returned to the kitchen. I put the kettle on and leaned back against the scrubbed work-surface to wait.
“It’s a bit like growing up, isn’t it?” Biscuit suggested, making me screw my face up in confusion while he dug through a biscuit selection box for any leftover chocolate ones. Once he’d glanced at me and realised I needed more information, he went on. “Bolting. Plants are all sweet and tender and nice in their youth then suddenly they get put under a lot of stress, they grow up and put out beautiful flowers but end up bitter and tough because of it and then they die.”
“Bleak.” I chastised and Biscuit shrugged. “And I see your point but growing up isn’t just about stress.”
“Isn’t it?” Biscuit wondered.
“Being a child is stressful.” I reminded him.
“Childhood is lovely, though.” He argued. “I wish I could be a child again. And some people never stop! They just go on being childish and having tantrums and making demands and calling people names and bullying and…” I held up a hand to stop him.
“Wait a second.” I suggested and Biscuit settled on the kitchen table with a selection of cream sandwiches as I finished making our tea. As I took it to the table, I set out my intentions. “I’m going to talk for a little while, is that okay?” Biscuit nodded solemnly and arranged his biscuit supply to see him through.
“Right.” I settled myself into the wooden armchair at the head of the table and furrowed my brow. “First off, I remember plenty of times when I was distressed as a child. Those awful moments when you think you’ve lost your parents or when something feels really unfair and no one’s fixing it. Or what about those times when you were going into something new and you weren’t sure what you had to do? Or when you fell out with your friends? And that’s just in a childhood where everything else is okay! Childhood has fun times, of course, but it’s hard too. Adulthood is the same, it’s just that the fun things are different.” I paused for a sip of tea which was still too hot, really.
“Secondly, even though there are lovely things in childhood, you described childish behaviour as petulant, spiteful, bullying, and mean. Why would you ever want to go back to that? I’m not sure that it’s a fair description of children, either. They can be all those things but they’re also eager, curious, silly, caring, sensitive, generous, kind, bright, supportive… all sorts of wonderful things! But we never mean any of those things when we call someone childish. And that gives out two messages to the world: a) we don’t think children are very nice, really and b) that adults aren’t really adults if they’re behaving in those ways.” I took another sip and Biscuit nibbled patiently on a gingersnap sandwich, seeing that I wasn’t quite done.
“And lastly, it’s not behaviours that separate children and adults.” I went on. “Children and adults can be horrible or lovely in all of the different ways that horrible and lovely can happen. Just look at the news! It’s full of adults doing horrible things. And a lot of them are in government somewhere. No, what makes the difference isn’t behaviour, it’s power. So when you see a politician shouting ‘rhubarb’ in a debate, or calling a colleague names, or having a sulk because he can’t get his own way, I think we need to remember that these people have real power. In some cases, they are the most powerful men in the world. You can’t call them childish, however they behave, because children have no power. Children have tantrums because it’s the only way they can try to exert some control over their world, sometimes, but at the end of the day their parents are still going to make them eat their broccoli or force them to go to bed. That’s not true of most adults. Most adults have power over their own immediate world. Some adults have power over everyone else’s world too. Calling them childish minimises their bad behaviour. Because they’re not having tantrums as a desperate grab for some kind of agency, they’re having tantrums because they haven’t learned how to manage their power with grace and humility.” I took another sip of tea and it was just right.
“You sound cross.” Biscuit noted quietly. I let out a slow breath and watched the steam from my cup curl in the air above it.
“I am cross.” I acknowledged. “Right now, I don’t see how anyone can be less than cross.” I let my shoulders drop and breathed out again.
“Are you cross at me?” Biscuit wondered and I looked up at him in surprise.
“Of course not.” I assured him and reached out to stroke his little head. “I’m not cross at anyone in particular. I’m cross at unfairness and unkindness and fear and greed and selfishness. I can’t blame any one person for that, though. We can all be unfair and unkind and scary and greedy and selfish sometimes. I’m cross that humans were made that way. It’s such a shame.” Biscuit sat up, looking eager and focused.
“What are we going to do about it?” He demanded and I smiled back at him.
“Well, I was planning to use all my adult power to make choices about how I behave.” I explained. “And I’m planning on behaving more like children. I’m going to be curious and kind and eager and silly and fun and ask questions and learn things. Maybe it will cost me a bit of effort and it might make me tired and cross sometimes but that feels like a fair trade to me. I hope I can have an effect on the people nearest me and maybe they’ll pass it on.”
“I’m in.” Biscuit declared and I chuckled. “When do we start?”
“Look at you.” I told him fondly. “You’ve bolted.”
