When I was a kid all I knew about being an adult was that adults go to work instead of school and that most of them are married with children. That’s the general rule. Of course jobs are hard to find. I’ve never been lucky enough to meet a nice girl and get married so naturally I have no kids. Being an adult means no one makes any excuses for me anymore. That’s not entirely true though. Occasionally someone will try to humor me a bit but it’s always with the assumption that it’s officially not supposed to be that way. People indulge the very young because a kid is still a work in progress. As a kid, even though I never have liked change, I could always count on being more capable of dealing with it. The older someone gets, though, the more deeply ingrained all his habits become inevitably. The average kid may think he gets to have significantly fewer restrictions on his behavior once he’s grown up. Unfortunately the rules, for an adult’s life, are still in force. They’re just different. Adult life is no better or worse than being a kid. I should like to think I have a bit more maturity and somewhat more of a sense of responsibility because of all the experiences I’ve been subjected to over the years. Unlike my young days, I can no longer be fooled into thinking I can trust someone if I can’t really trust him. I know understand that liberalism is absolutely and without question mankind’s single ultimate evil. Little did I know, as a kid, that this would turn out to be so important a problem. There are quite a lot of distinctions between young me and adult me. It’s like what Dostoyevsky referred to as having eaten the apple. There’s never any possibility of turning back. I have quite a different understanding now of the passage of time than I did back then. My physical appearance hasn’t changed significantly. Everyone I knew in my very early days still recognizes me when he sees me for the first time as an adult. I should like to think my general personality and outlook on life have undergone the same kinds of changes. There’s a lot more mandatory self-regulation now, and I don’t necessarily get too much of it right. Crying still happens occasionally. Coffee and liquor are quite enjoyable. Those are drinks that are symbolic rites of passage into adulthood. I still read kids’ stories but I now understand the point of them. There’s even a C.S. Lewis line about how no kids’ story is really good unless it’s good for adults too. Adulthood is filled with disillusionment, disappointment, pain and dull ordinary chores and realities. It must serve some kind of a purpose though because it happens, at least chronologically, to one and all who remain among the living long enough.