I’m eighteen, though I’m not an adult. It’s a paradox, really. I can drive past midnight, vote in elections, buy lottery tickets, and be charged as an adult for committing a crime. Even though I’m legally an adult, I’m still a child.

I’m eighteen, though I’m not an adult. Being a senior in high school, I was told that I had to start making decisions about the rest of my life. I had to decide what colleges I wanted to apply to, what my intended major would be, and what type of career I would hope to pursue. Regardless of all these tough choices, I still raise my hand in class and ask to use the restroom - a simple reminder of all the common, elementary rules enforced on me as a kindergartener.

I’m eighteen, though I’m not an adult. By turning the big one-eight, I’ve earned the luxury of being able to see rated R movies. The appeal of being able to watch films entrenched with drugs, sex and violence without parental supervision is exciting! Though, I actually prefer to watch the colorful and imaginative Disney features rather than those over-exaggerated Hollywood blockbusters.

I’m eighteen, though I’m not an adult. I still sit at the kids table during holiday dinner parties. It’s okay, though. The adults like to discuss politics, their 401k’s, and the good ol’ days of their childhood. Those of us relegated to the kids table have a different approach to dinner time conversation. They debate on which is better: pizza or tacos? Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings? Jump rope or four square?  

I’m eighteen, though I’m not an adult. I pride myself in being able to maneuver a skillet and spatula; fish being my specialty. I know how to prepare healthful meals that will be both delicious and satisfying. However I’m certainly not opposed to the pizza and brownies diet. Those combination of flavors always makes the world seem right, and brings out my wide, toothy smile.

I’m eighteen, though I’m not an adult. I’m quirky, energetic, happy and resilient - just like a little kid. Adults are boring and always tired. Intellectually, I understand they have a lot on their plates,but they never seem to know when to have fun. Me? While I can behave maturely at times, I always leave some room to let my spontaneous personality shine through. I’m like the iconic golden retriever jumping into a lake on an ASPCA calendar; life for these turbulent times is to be lived now, with gusto and hope.

I’m eighteen, though I’m not an adult. Children cry for all different types of reasons - it’s their default action when they have no other way of reacting. Now one may believe that crying is for babies, though I’m eighteen and I still cry. I cry when I’m stressed from the heaps of work I have to complete; I cry when a boy I care tremendously for doesn’t want to be more than friends with me; I cry when I feel the world is conspiring against me; I cry when my friends reveal that they were accepted into their first choice college (I cried when I was too); I cry when I remember an old, happy childhood memory, which brings me joy. I cry because it’s how I react to life unfolding before my eyes.

I’m eighteen, though I’m not an adult. While I have grown into a “big kid” and am amassing various responsibilities and obligations, there will forever be a part of me which will never age.

I’m eighteen, though I’m not an adult, for I’m still a child at heart.