“I’ll take,” I paused, beating my student ID against the table in thought. “A medium coffee, um, maybe with an extra shot of espresso?”
The woman at the register gave a tired, short nod before taking my card and swiping it. It was still early in the morning — as I prefer to study either early or late in the day, no in between — and I was the only person in line at the café.
As I held tight to my $4 coffee and shuffled to Alderman’s double doors, I passed a small group of people standing in the wide atrium. It was a family — they were wide-eyed and timid, but very excited to be there. The children were younger than most that visit, around ten and seven-years-old, and not sure what to make of the large library. The frizzy-haired father bent down to the smallest child and said, “We need to be quiet now.” Then, he tapped his wife on the shoulder and asked, “Are we allowed to be here?”
She shrugged, but the family still took a collective step forward.
It was refreshing to see that kind of excitement about our University. It was the same kind of excited shyness I felt when I first set foot on Grounds, when I first set foot in Alderman. Those first moments always seem to elicit the same reaction — awe. It’s important to remember this.
“Look at all the grown-ups,” the smallest child said, pointing at us students in a big, sweeping motion. That comment made me smile a bit — in no way, shape or form did I consider myself to be a ‘grown-up’. Nothing about how I live my life, right now, suggests that I am a grown-up. For dinner, I only ever have soggy cornflakes or burnt eggs with sriracha sauce. Whenever I have a problem, I still call my parents for guidance. At the post office, only a few days ago, I had trouble printing stamps from the electronic machine.
My point?
I’m not a grown-up. Still, this child was struck by the adultness of every student in Alderman, including me.
“Look at all the students,” I wanted to correct, but kept my mouth shut. After all, we weren’t doing anything impressive or awe-inducing. We were just being students, we were doing what students do. If nothing else, we were certainly trying. I didn’t say that — it didn’t seem right.
Instead, I met the eyes of the parents and said, “You can be here. It’s a public place.” I paused, and added — “Really, you should explore the different rooms. Carefully, though. Alderman’s big.”
The parents nodded, politely and a bit awkwardly, but ushered their children forward and down the right wing of the library. With my coffee in hand, I turned and wandered toward the courtyard between Alderman and Clemons. It was a good place to study — similar to a library, but outside — and I started to tackle the mound of work that my professors had gracefully gifted over the week.
After a half hour or so, I started to lose interest in the material and found myself reflecting on that small family. Several days later, I still thought about their curious expressions and timid entrance into Alderman. It’s true — I didn’t know these people at all, but there was something about their appreciation for our library that continues to make me reflect and smile.
Partly, it was the appreciation and wonderment the family had displayed for what we do, for our efforts as students — after all, we do work hard and it’s always nice to be appreciated. Still, I’m inclined to believe that there was something else about the family, specifically, something about what the smallest child said.
“Grown-up.”
I don’t identify as a grown-up, but that quick comment made me reflect on all the things that made me an adult. I live alone. I have a job. I take care of myself. That’s adult-like behavior — somewhat, at least –— and for me, for now, that is more than enough. I don’t need to be a full-fledged adult right now. I’m content to keep learning, doing my best and moving in a positive direction.
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