How to Transition into the Real World

One summer I went to VBS with my cousin in another city.  When I told them what school I went to they laughed courteously and said, “ha, that’s a funny joke.”  Thus, I had to repeatedly promise that yes, I really did go to Walt Disney Elementary.

Had they asked me a few year later, I would have had to confess that I attended Kickapoo High School.  Their laugh would no longer be a courteous laugh, but rather, a laugh that asks really?? And if I admitted our colors were brown and gold, even the most mature listener would be unable to contain his gut laugh.  All maturities enjoy bathroom humor.  Picture at the right:  Do YOU fear the poo?  We’ve been flushing the competition.

Walt Disney Elementary was perfectly fitting for the 6, 7, and 8 year old.  In art class we would draw Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck.  We’d celebrate Disney’s persistence and his victory with his long lasting mark on the film world.  Who doesn’t love Snow White? However, imagine if Baylor were named Disney.  Try:  I attend Disney University.  Good luck getting into law school.

In honor of my little elementary school, here’s a quote from our man Walt:

“too many people grow up.  That’s the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up.  They forget.  They don’t remember what it’s like to be 12 years old.  They patronize, they treat children as inferiors.  Well I won’t do that.” -Walt Disney

I’ve been working on scheduling all week.  I love brainstorming about careers in publishing or moving abroad or simply being too scared to do either.  But, I must not ever forget the quiet girl inside that still likes to hold a doll and give it a name, organize book shelves in a make-believe library, or have slumber party at Grandmother’s house.  I still do all those things unashamedly.  Especially the last one.

I tell you all this because today I legitimately felt grown up for the first time.

Today I started my first real job.

I’ve had other jobs, but something about smelling like carrot cake and offering taste tests of differnet types of ham doesn’t seem professional.   Nor does watching movies and painting a mannequin head while babysitting seem resume worthy.  Even when I had a uniform at the YMCA, the referee jersey still didn’t seem to legitimize work experience  either.  What do I say?  I inflated the inflatables?

I don’t dismiss those jobs.  They’re the ones that I’ll look back and will ask why I ever complained.  It’s similar to raising your eyebrows to the high schooler who complains about homework or the Texan who complains about it being cold.

They grow you.  They grew me.  But I choose to still be growing up.  Forever.  There’s no harm in never stopping if you never silence the child inside.

I loved childhood– violin, choir, piano lessons and all.  But, I like this more:  It’s not over.  “It’s never too late to have a good childhood.”

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