by Eve Stenson

So we’ve gotten through another Halloween: that time of year when all those darling little children dress up as devils, werewolves, monsters, vampires, demons . . . How appropriate.

All right, so maybe they aren’t quite that bad; I’ve never actually brought a stake when babysitting. But it does seem that, amidst all the praise we lavish on kids for being innocent, honest or just plain adorable, we forget that they can also be obnoxious twits.

It’s a lot like romanticism’s notion of the "noble savage" – the ideal of human beings unfettered by civilization and living in harmony with nature – but without the need for other cultures. If you want someone that prefers to go "au naturel," you needn’t look further than the nearest toddler or two. And it’s a pretty safe bet they’ll be fairly uncivilized little heathens, at that.

Now, I don’t dislike kids; in fact, I tend to get along with them very well. As a result, I’ve spent a great deal of time interacting with children in a variety of capacities: camp counselor, gymnastics coach, head of playground excursions at family picnics. (This last might have something to do with my own fondness for swings and sandboxes.)

When you get to know them, you find that kids – besides being cute and fun to play with – are rather interesting human beings, just smaller. And it’s true, they often lack the cynicism and ingrained prejudices that many older people accumulate. However, they also tend to lack patience, consideration and foresight. They throw temper tantrums, cut each other in line, and need to be reminded to go to the bathroom.

Why is it, then, that seemingly reasonable college students are so eager to imitate them?

Sure, you don’t hear many people waxing poetic about their bedwetting days. But, on the other hand, who’s jostling for the title of "responsible adult"?

For example, a friend who graduated in May to become a reporter was infinitely relieved when her younger sister asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. "I was just happy she didn’t think I was already grown up," she recounted.

"Grown up," the designation to avoid at all cost.

When I was a kid, my family called them "grups." My parents were classic Star Trek fans, and it was a reference to an episode in which the Enterprise encounters a strange disease. Although the virus prolongs childrens’ aging for centuries, as soon as they hit puberty, they are struck with rapidly degenerative symptoms: growing sores, progressive insanity, and a very painful death.

Come to think of it, if the dread in their voices is any indication, that doesn’t sound altogether different from what a lot of seniors expect will happen to them, come May.

Of course, it could be that the notion of donning "a tie and a serious expression in the middle of July" seems nearly as bad. (Though not everyone comes from a family of science fiction fans, we were all introduced to the myth of Peter Pan at a tender age.) As for me, I remember thinking that the Darling children were fools. And if you learned the non-Disney version, wherein Peter himself renounced his idyllic world of mermaids and flight, that was simply tragic.

It isn’t just a popular social phenomenon either. I probably couldn’t even count how many times my Catholic grade school – in religion classes alone, let alone mass – told and retold the story of Jesus declaring, "Let the little children come to me," and scolding the adults for not being more child-like.

It wasn’t supposed to be an ego-boost, though. It was third grade at the latest when we were admonished, lest we think we were paragons of virtue, "That passage isn’t talking about you; it’s talking about the kindergartners." At eight, we were already too old.

With all that encouragement, I guess it isn’t surprising that "grown up" has such a negative connotation. Yet, on what real grounds? Sure, if you’ve never done it before, it may seem daunting at first to buy your own health insurance policy or file your own taxes. But it’s not like that can compare to having your own apartment.

Perhaps it isn’t really the material uncertainties that seem so daunting, but the ethical ones. In Peter Pan, there’s no confusion about who the pirates are, or if they might be right. Yet, within the same week, I had strikingly similar conversations with the two of my most different friends: a laissez faire capitalist and an enthusiastic member of PSJ. Both reminisced that not too long ago, "I used to know for sure."

In one episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I’ve already confessed to being raised on Star Trek; I might as well go all the way), after staking an old friend of hers who turned vampire to avoid dying from cancer, Buffy asks her mentor, "Does it ever get any easier? . . . Lie to me."

"Yes," he replies, "it's terribly simple. The good guys are stalwart and true. The bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats and we always defeat them and save the day. Nobody ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after."

"Liar," she retorts knowingly.

Now, it might seem incongruous for someone who uses as a column logo a photo of herself as a six-year-old to be advocating the merits of growing up. But though I still hang upside down on a regular basis, and don’t think that "grown ups" have any obligation not to, it isn’t something I want to do constantly.

As lovely as Never Land might be, a thimble’s not a kiss. And anyone who’s seen Hook knows that when Peter Pan learned to fly again, his happy thought was his son. I can see why he left.

Kids can make great company, after all, demons or not; I just wouldn’t want to be one.

(published in The Ram, 12 November 2003)