Columns
RUSSELL | On Twenty
|
The unwritten rite of passage for every ripe new 20-year-old is a conversation about one’s childhood perceptions of what it meant to be 20. I see it every time. The minute the clock strikes midnight and the teenage persona tumbles to the floor, the birthday girl or boy fumbles through the cabinets of their mind in search of a way to make the day seem meaningful, usually finding that the best way is to turn to a friend and mention that when they were 12 they thought everyone in their twenties were full grown adults. I, usually standing by the cake at these twentieth birthday parties, often overhear these conversations from afar and nod my head, acknowledging that no matter how overplayed the idea is, it rings true: 20 really does catch everyone by surprise, and somehow no one ever imagines it correctly in middle school. But 20 is still something special.