Sir? Me? . . . Who are you calling a grown-up?
This month I’m going to be at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, held every other year at the late humorist’s alma mater, the University of Dayton.
Over the years, I have fooled the fine folks there enough that they keep inviting me back. Maybe it’s an Ohio thing — be kind to those who appear to have nothing on their schedule.
This year I’m on a panel with other columnists, including Connie Schultz, who won the Pulitzer Prize for commentary a few years ago. Her essays now grace the back page of Parade mag- azine on Sundays. A grownup. Maybe she doesn’t think so, but she is.
Schultz is so grown-up that she is married to a U.S. senator (Sherrod Brown of Ohio), although I suspect even she would confess that being a politician’s wife doesn’t always mean being a grown-up.
What surprises me about these workshops is that people treat me as a grown-up, too. Some have been known to even ask my opinion. Workshop panelists are paid to share their thoughts, although USA TODAY doesn’t allow us to accept such stipends. Obviously, my editors know I’m not a grown-up and therefore my advice is not worth paying for.
That’s fine. I’ve never thought of myself as a bona fide adult, either. Maybe because my parents never believed I’d actually grow up. I took their word for it. People listened to their parents back then.
So I’m still surprised when people treat me as if I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. Like when someone calls me sir. Who are they talking to? I wonder. I still have the same anxieties I had as a child. Maybe worse. “Will I miss the bus home from school?” now translates to running for a flight, as I did the other day in Atlanta. My heart was pounding. Surely someone will worry if I don’t make it home. Won’t they?
The problem is I don’t look like a child anymore. There are days now that I could actually pass as an adult.
I’m almost, I said almost, used to the fact that people now give me senior-citizen benefits without my asking. No ID required. It happened just the other day as I was waiting to board a train to Baltimore.
“People with children, those who might need a little extra time, and senior citizens over 62 can board now!” the conductor yelled. I didn’t budge.
She then looked straight at me and nodded toward the door. Why not? I thought.
I marched on, happy in the knowledge I’d get a window seat, every child’s ultimate goal.