Senior Moments: A welcome into adulthood

Adi Goldstein

I met a man recently who was sitting alone outside of a food bank. I waved as I walked by. His teeth were decayed, and his skin hung off his fragile limbs. I didn’t expect him to speak to me.

To my surprise, he asked me how old I was. I said 17. As I walked away, he said, “When you turn 18, happy birthday.”

I wish I would have stopped. I wish I would have asked him his name. I was flattered but confused. What was so important about turning 18?

Soon, I’ll be able to vote. I’ll be legally able to buy cigarettes, spray paint and superglue. I’ll be able to sign my own injury prevention waivers, work a “real-world” job and serve on a jury. My childhood will be behind me, and my adulthood will be in front of me.

Other than all these material milestones, what will change? So often, turning 18 means figuring life out. The reality of “you’re an adult now” is starting to imbed itself into my life. I have to wonder, what does it mean for me?

I used to think aging involved the old you dying and the new you being born. I was wrong. Aging is more like an onion; it’s layered. The older I get, the more layers I’ll have. The part of me that cries like a baby is still two years old. The 8-year-old in me still goes to the playground. The part of me that’s 12 speaks too loudly in public and is directionally challenged. I hope when I turn 70, there is still a piece of me that’s turning 18, trying to navigate the changes in life. A girl who doesn’t know what change means. A girl who’s not ready. I’ll remind myself adults are kids who grew up.

On the 27th of this month, I’ll cram 18 candles into a hot pan of brownies. Blowing out my candles, I’ll make a wish for two people. First, that the man I met is still alive. That he knows he’s a gift to me. That tonight he’s not hungry, cold or wet. Secondly, for myself, to stop and ask people their name. To be someone who sees people who are scared to be seen. Someone who knows people who are waiting to be known. Someone who stops and stays with people who are completely alone.

Looking back, the man I met was most likely homeless. Most days, maybe even on his birthday, everyone that sees him pretends he isn’t alive. When he spoke to me, I learned no matter who you are, someone is glad you were born. Someone wants you to age another year. Someone wants to spend time with you and celebrate your birth. Someone’s going to miss you terribly when you’re gone.

So, when you get the chance to speak to someone new, don’t make small talk. Don’t discuss the weather. When they age one more year, tell them you hope they will have a happy birthday.

Erin Urhahn is a senior at Oak Ridge High School. She's just a girl trying to find her niche in the world.