Everybody grows up, mostly. You know this because you’ve grown up, too. The gain in height and weight is usually accompanied with some sense of maturity or entitlement, or even wisdom. Even more usually, there are things such as jobs, careers, taxes, deaths, betrayals, loss of functioning, …, hair loss, hair growth, fur on the sofa, fur on the carpet, fur in the broccoli, …, illegible handwriting, stubbornness, and a general inability to finish lists.

I am still young, by the definition of those older than me (and by my own lest I cause my own insanity!). Still, I have been growing for over twenty years now. I remember when a year really felt like a year – like a battle one waded through, the good and the bad all tensed in numerous and unpredictable situations. The worry about the dentist’s lack of Bugs Bunny stickers became an all-absorbing enquiry, despite lasting less than five minutes. Now, a year only feels like a year – more like a history lesson. Any drama is usually reported by my memory in an unfeeling, distant manner. There are exceptions, but those are the times I still feel like a child. Those are the times when I discover a new part of the world, a new way of thinking, or a really cool thing in the basement, and as I discover more, the less I seem to stumble upon.

It is probably clear that I am incredibly fond of my childhood. Here are five reasons why I despair my powerlessness of the laws of society and biology.

1. Life is unfair

It may be the case that, in fact, people gain a sense of entitlement or wisdom because of the second group of events in the first paragraph – the things one has to deal with in their aged state must surely balance out, must entitle the sufferer to some sense of superiority. I have to work, to pay taxes – all for society! Society owes me! I’ll show society! This is what I think-! Truly, this does not seem right to most others within the society. One can contribute to society in many ways, even not contributing is a part of making the society what it is – so it seems macro-decisions and collective desires should be hammered out by the whole, and not whichever individual feels like they know what society needs better than the society itself. Unfortunately, society is made up of these people. Such is life. [Now, get back on track...]

A child does not contribute, and so perhaps this is why she does not feel discontent with what she receives. The most I contributed was some crayon on the wall and maybe a bit of snot near the climbing frame (it was part of a competition (that I made up (and played by myself (I always won (but there are no winners in snot-far (woo brackets)))))), and I am quite glad I didn’t get these things back (the contributions, not the brackets). Perhaps she is simply too young to know how the give-and-take nature of adult societal contribution operates, and accepts what she gets without question. Parents can be godlike in the way they give lots without asking much.

Society doesn’t really ask much from the individual – what it reaps is a collective input. I think that it is mainly the personal loss that causes adults to feel betrayed by their own culture. Children don’t feel betrayed by society. They feel betrayed by the school dinner lady for only giving out one dumpling when they forgot to eat breakfast, or by their ‘friend’ for passing to Jordan despite being in a better position to score. There is definitely a sense of entitlement in a child’s life, but there is no expectation of disappointment. They may be told life is unfair, yet Walt Disney disagrees, their teachers disagree, and even their parents, the tellers of wisdom, often disagree. The good always triumph, at some point. I miss unconsciously knowing that was true.

2. Being comfortably lost

Being a child is a lot like being a billionaire. You can do what you want, when you want, how you want. You might not always get a way with it, but at the time, there do not appear to be any rules. Weeks were spent doing absolutely nothing of any value, as others would judge it. I remember spending excessively large amounts of time playing with lego, or on the playstation, or building very important things out of whatever rubble I could unearth in the back garden. I was not spending anything, nor was I being paid anything. I had no obligations to anyone. Everything I did was seemingly stringless.

I am not in a hugely different scenario now – I am a student. I spent an inordinate amount of time on my laptop unconsciously slowing my brain to resonate at the same frequency as the cooling fan, or sleeping until not even Holmes could distinguish between the sleeping sheets and the crumpled me, or going out and not particularly enjoying it but doing it anyway just in case. I know this can’t last – already the strings have formed around my wrists and dragging me to the bank, the gas/electric company, the landlord, the university. I feel lost, a lot of the time, and it is unnerving. Lost in the vast array of things that I am going to have to be a part of once I graduate from immaturity, if I ever get the grades. I’d rather be lost in the unknowingly guided way that kids tumble through life – at least then there is the possibility I’ll end up somewhere nice.

3. Being serious

The only serious things in my childhood were maths and my chronic ugliness, and even the ugliness wasn’t that serious (all the other kids were laughing, anyway). Suddenly I’m 20, and everything I say is under review. My preference of white chocolate makes me a supremacist (a word that would be awesome if not for the connotations), my inability to see enough logic in certain rules (I can’t play on a park? Not even on the swings?) to follow them makes me a hooligan (also an awesome word) and suddenly my made-up religion brings tears to my grandmother’s eyes (seriously).

I both can and cannot understand why money is such an important thing to so many people. That is just one example. Undeserved stereotypes, unthinking loyalty to outdated and ignorant principles, beliefs in one’s own deserving of special treatment in such an incredibly uncaring universe as this are a few others. Even existentialists have a hard time not taking life as seriously as it is signposted.

Children can do it without any effort. A child can fall over and laugh/cry, but won’t blame the pavement. Even the parent will blame the child for not looking where they are walking. How many kids play sports, games where one must either win, lose or draw, but then don’t start fights afterwards? I’m sure a lot of children accept a healthier meal without complaining that their rights to suicide by grease are being trampled upon. When your life is run for you, it is hard to take it seriously. Sure, it seemed serious, but we all know that it wasn’t, compared to the standard of adults. Why is it that having a job is any more serious than colouring inside the lines? Both are futile activites, by the standards of each.

This may only be on my mind because I wish the bank would allow me to say, ‘I don’t want to,’ when they ask for loan repayments, and for them to say, ‘Okay that’s fine, here’s a colouring book and some crayons.’

4. The lack of a past

I have twenty years of past. I don’t remember even nearly all of it, but I remember enough to make me feel uneasy. Even thinking about my childhood (in particular that ugly, ugly face) makes my mind gag a little. As the repulsive child under examination, however, there was no past. There were no regrettable decisions concerning scissors and ponytails, embarrassing overly-sexual encounters with other kids, and certainly no development-scarring family holidays.

Of course, there were no good memories either, but that was fine – I was a child. Even being punished had its fun moments. Having no bad memories meant I could make good ones! I was not deterred from doing things by memories of failure. I could be reckless, and learn the consequences for the first and best time (parental advice did not count as learning and hence did not need heeding).

I am sure that having a past is, in a few ways, a good thing. For one, I am justified in many assumptions I make about the world. For another, I can look back at my childhood and realise how great it was.

5. Looking forward to growing up

I was seriously misguided. I think many of us were. I’d blame Disney but it would be a cheap shot to a dead man. Instead I will blame nature, for not making me grateful for the extreme amount of youth I once had, when I had it. I used to enjoy imagining myself all grown up, and now I am almost sickened by the thought of it. [Side-note: I imagined myself taller with my face then, usually in a suit. Now, looking back, I see myself smaller and more energetic, with my face now. Same thing happens if I imagine what my dog would look like as a human, except with his head, not mine (strangely, he has my body).]

I would be jealous of my mother’s ability to drive a car, to decide what to eat, to have lots of money, to be able to boss smaller humans around. All that power in one person! What could I do? I could make little lego cities and destroy them as if I were Godzilla and they were Japan. I could make old relatives tell me how tall I was getting on command. Yet I could not buy a real city, or even a Godzilla suit. I could not be six feet tall. I was limited, severely so.

No! I was free! I could be Godzilla all I wanted! I could receive endless compliments from my grandparents! Now I just make a mess that I have to clean up, and make occasional out-of-the-way visits to racist relatives who share little in common with me other than a bloodline. Being a grown-half-up is rubbish! There is way too much responsibility – I am definitely not looking forward to more! When I was a child, being a grown up meant you were near-perfect. Now that I’m nearly an adult myself, it means that I’m even less perfect than I was as a child (even with that hideous face).

From all of these points, it seems to me that the most blatant thing I miss is the misconceptions. When the future is full of seemingly endless improvements, it is difficult not to look forward to it. I am sure I can always find a way to unleash my inner child upon the unsuspecting world, or be forced to die trying. In at least one way, it is impossible to grow up. Even if I live to be five-hundred, I’ll never outlive the ever-changing world around me. I suppose that means I will never be able to grow up. Once again, I feel comfortably powerless.