What are you?

This week, I decided to try something new. I've been taking the 500 instead of the 71A. The 500, instead of being stuffed with crazy people, brims with children and young parents. I suspect this is because the bus goes to the zoo, but who knows why there are so many all the time. Not only are there tons of kiddos on the bus, they swarm around it when you get off at my stop. Highland Park seems to have lots of young kids. And I like that.

Yesterday, I got off the bus from class wearing my new IRB backpack. I sauntered down the road with both hands holding the fine black straps when a little boy on a pink bicycle skidded to a halt in front of me. He said, "Hey! Are you a grown up or a kid?"

I was taken aback. I ask myself this question almost daily. Here I am supposed to be an adult and I obsess over Corey's garbage shoes and tattle to his mommy like a middle-schooler. I sort of want to live like an adult, but my greatest joy is chasing my friends around rugby practice and sneaking in an ass punch when they aren't expecting it. Could this child on a bicycle see right through my facade? How did he know to ask this question? I had to choose.

"I'm a grown up. For sure."

He didn't seem convinced. He looked at me a bit longer, rode the bike around me in a tight circle. I think he needed to process this news. Back pack, yet grown up. Short person, yet adult. Crazy, immature brain yet claims to side with the grownups. He stopped the bike again and stared me down.

"Well, do you want to come inside for a piece of cake?"

Heck yes I did! Nothing sounded more delicious in the world. I hoped it was chocolate cake. But I had already chosen sides. Grownups can't go into strange children's houses for cake. I had to tell him no, thank you and skip on home to my house, where there is no cake. Only generic cheerios.