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Thirty years, and still no smarter than a teenagerMy dad has always said that growing another year older isn't a waste as long as you've learned something on that free trip around the sun. And, I suppose he's right. For example, at age 9 I had pretty much gotten the message that Mom didn't like artistic expression in the form of crayon wall art. Despite what my siblings said, there were no "floating islands built from lava" and I wasn't adopted. Dogs can't blow bubbles with chewing gum; cats don't like baths; and baby calves grow up to be pot roast. Through trial and error I'd figured out how to tie my shoes, spell my last name and survive bullies on the playground. With cursive writing and long division, I was set to take over the world. By 15, I was at my peak of learning. And, if the leaders of our society had only asked me, I could have brought about world peace, fed all the hungry, sheltered the homeless and solved the energy crisis. In a decade and a half I had figured out just enough survival skills to get myself to and from school, help out at home and be a star in and out of the classroom. Therefore, I was an expert in everything. In short, I had a 4.O GPA, ambition to take over the world, and the attitude to make it a reality. It's a wonder I survived. By rights my parents should have muzzled me. Instead, they allowed me to continue my delusion of knowing everything. But then came college and the delusion was destroyed. Oh, that year I turned 18 was a steep learning curve. In a few short months I had my first roommate, my first heartbreak, my first beer and my first hangover. I'd flunked my first test, taken my first road trip with friends, and lost my first friend. Four years later, I'd figured out a few more things. Such as working at a job for someone else isn't like working for your parents on the farm. Paying your own bills isn't nearly as glamorous as you think it may be when you're 15 and your parents are footing the tab. Despite what everyone said, no one really knew what they wanted to be when they "grew up" and it was okay that I didn't as well. And, while one may be able to survive on macaroni and cheese and microwave popcorn, one shouldn't. In these past 10 years I've realized being an adult is highly overrated. My 20s taught me that a heart can be shattered and will still beat on in your chest. Despite all my faults my parents will always be in my corner. Family is still family, no matter if they move thousands of miles away. And, home is wherever I make it. In between the momentous lessons, I also found time to educate myself on the mysteries of insurance forms, 401K statements and the owner's manual of my car. With enough time, I'm pretty certain I could teach myself how to change my oil and mow my yard. I just choose not to. The funny thing is, I thought by now I'd be a lot smarter than what I am. At 15 I knew everything. So why is it at 30 I don't know diddly? Oh sure, I have the basic survival skills that allow me to live on my own. I don't stick crayons up my nose and I can balance my checkbook. What else is there to it? But I still don't know why there continues to be war in the world, or why children continue to go hungry when we have the ability to grow so much food. I don't know why people are intolerant of others because of their skin color, religion or socio-economic standing. And, I don't know the answer to the biggest question of all. Where do missing socks go when they get lost in the dryer? I'm hoping the next 30 years will bring the answers to those questions and more. And, maybe each year I can grow wiser until I reach the pinnacle of wisdom--my former 15-year-old self. Jennifer M. Latzke can be reached by phone at 620-227-1807 or by e-mail at jlatzke@hpj.com. 5/5/08 Date: 4/29/08
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