When do we get ... small?

Years ago, I heard an episode of This American Life, in which they were talking about the world through childrens' eyes. One of the stories I remember was that of an older woman sitting next to a young girl on an airplane. It was obviously the girl's first trip on an airplane. The older woman was talking her through what was happening and trying to ease her nervousness. The little girl did well, and the plane took off and she was all filled with wide-eyed wonder. After several minutes, though, she looked at her seatmate with puzzlement and asked, "When do we get small?"

It's a cute story. But I've been thinking about it a lot lately ... because I don't feel like a *grownup* yet. Sure, I've got a mortgage and a 401(k) and two new sons and a job and a car and utility bills... but I still don't feel like a real... grownup. I still sing along to the radio in the car (sometimes well, usually very poorly). I've never worn a suit to work. I often work from home; "changing into work clothes" means "putting on some pants, and maybe slippers if it's cold".

It's an arbitrary thing, really. I guess I am going to be what a grownup is for my kids.

Maybe I should buy a pair of wingtips. Dad had wingtips.