Adult(?)hood

It probably would’ve been harder if he was taller than I was, but still, he was actually older. Taller was always intimidating, but only because it essentially simulated older. Actually being older was, I think, the worst of it, because before in my life, older had always been synonymous with authority. Adults were this irreproachably higher class of human, and no matter how much I matured, the glass ceiling of that hierarchy would always hang heavily above me.

We were both adults now, though, and I wasn’t standing here apologizing because I had made some childish mistake or failed to live up to some authority-figure’s expectations for me. If he was disappointed in me, I really didn’t care. My apology was simply an act of social policy, an attempt to smooth things over between the two parties we both represented. As he stared across (not down, for as I said, he was not taller than I was) condescendingly making attempts to correct my behavior, I stood as a herald, perhaps, or a messenger, not as myself. I was to convey someone else’s words; they were words I had come up with on my own, but they did not belong to me.

This is what I have seen adults do my entire life. They create aliases for themselves, paint stern, unwavering masks onto their own wrinkled faces, attempting as best they can to suit a circumstance in the way that is most advantageous for them and theirs. He had insulted my boss, my coworkers, my job, and though I didn’t care very much for any of those things in particular, he had done so behind my back as a way of getting back at me, and this put him at the disadvantage. For the most adult thing, I have learned, is always to be conniving, but the moment one is caught in the act of such petty slyness, one is become, yet again, a child. I knew this all too well as he and I stood toe to toe amidst the business of that room, a quick exchange of words communicating a thousand times more than was said aloud. His condescending rebuke and my even, steady tone, and for once I realized I was the one keeping calm and he the one intimidated by what I had to say.

In that moment, my apology became more than a polite gesture for some small misunderstanding. There grew in my heart a sincere sympathy for the poor old man who no longer held all that power over me. It hit me too suddenly that I had been taught my whole life that being an adult is to have power over me, never altogether realizing till now that I could accidentally have power over anyone else.