Jul 2016
Grow Up
Grow up!
People have been telling me this since I should’ve still been a boy
At 14, I got my first job,
Partially convinced that growing up meant get the hell away from my parents
And absolutely certain that if I didn’t
One of us would be dead
For 14 years, I played the adult game
Got the 9-5
(They never tell you that it’s rarely as convenient as 9am-5pm)
Earned my keep
Took a wife, a mortgage, and an expanding waistline
It became who I was
I worked hard
I fixed my house
I ****** my wife
(Well, as much as any married man should routinely do so)
But secretly, the boy in me cried out
On the weekends I smashed TVs
And torched Barbie dolls
I kept my toys in the closet
And my comic books in heaps
Then somewhere, my wife decided
The charade wasn’t enough
I wasn’t man enough
And
She was right
I got sick of the monotony of a large racist black man berating me
Treating me like one of his seven illegitimate children
I’d comment on the irony of the stereotype
But those same people screaming grow up
Would be quick to label me the racist
More than anything,
I got sick of being a man
I demanded my freedom
I wanted my childhood back
Back to school I went
The toys marched out of the closet
And the comic books were worn like bandanas protruding from my back pocket
(You know, before it was cool)
Four years in, and once again
They want me to grow up again
******, I tried that
Even gave it a go a few years ago
It didn’t work out so well
Give me a book,
An inspired teacher,
Something to play with,
And tell me to learn
I sure as **** will
But, the moment you want to pay me for that knowledge
Lock me down in your pay scale
I will lose all interest
Give me a task
Something with any ideal greater than monetary compensation
I will give you every bit of my broken and battle-hardened body
And, more importantly,
Every piece of the mind of a man trying to relearn what it meant to be a child
I’m 31 now
Just over the cusp of when “contemporary” wisdom tells you
You’re done being a kid
Hell, I even have a son of my own
Another semester is ending
And recess is being called in
I find myself in financial distress
With no other means of survival
Other than to return to wearing the man mask
All I want to do is learn,
And grow
Just not up
Mother, can you please tell me,
Do I really have to grow up?
Grow up!
People have been telling me this since I should’ve still been a boy
At 14, I got my first job,
Partially convinced that growing up meant get the hell away from my parents
And absolutely certain that if I didn’t
One of us would be dead
For 14 years, I played the adult game
Got the 9-5
(They never tell you that it’s rarely as convenient as 9am-5pm)
Earned my keep
Took a wife, a mortgage, and an expanding waistline
It became who I was
I worked hard
I fixed my house
I ****** my wife
(Well, as much as any married man should routinely do so)
But secretly, the boy in me cried out
On the weekends I smashed TVs
And torched Barbie dolls
I kept my toys in the closet
And my comic books in heaps
Then somewhere, my wife decided
The charade wasn’t enough
I wasn’t man enough
And
She was right
I got sick of the monotony of a large racist black man berating me
Treating me like one of his seven illegitimate children
I’d comment on the irony of the stereotype
But those same people screaming grow up
Would be quick to label me the racist
More than anything,
I got sick of being a man
I demanded my freedom
I wanted my childhood back
Back to school I went
The toys marched out of the closet
And the comic books were worn like bandanas protruding from my back pocket
(You know, before it was cool)
Four years in, and once again
They want me to grow up again
******, I tried that
Even gave it a go a few years ago
It didn’t work out so well
Give me a book,
An inspired teacher,
Something to play with,
And tell me to learn
I sure as **** will
But, the moment you want to pay me for that knowledge
Lock me down in your pay scale
I will lose all interest
Give me a task
Something with any ideal greater than monetary compensation
I will give you every bit of my broken and battle-hardened body
And, more importantly,
Every piece of the mind of a man trying to relearn what it meant to be a child
I’m 31 now
Just over the cusp of when “contemporary” wisdom tells you
You’re done being a kid
Hell, I even have a son of my own
Another semester is ending
And recess is being called in
I find myself in financial distress
With no other means of survival
Other than to return to wearing the man mask
All I want to do is learn,
And grow
Just not up
Mother, can you please tell me,
Do I really have to grow up?
