Law says son, 18, is an adult, but what does it know?

Published 9:00 pm Thursday, January 13, 2005

Anyone who reads this column very often knows this: I’m a mother of three children. Only hours from now, that won’t be true. Technically, legally, I’ll be down to one little kid.

He’s a handful, but that’s another subject. The subject for today is adulthood.

My middle child, the wry and inspired son No. 1, turns 18 on Saturday.

Every day, I celebrate this boy.

He’s the musician in the house, the filmmaker and movie critic. He can tell you everything there is to know about “Nosferatu,” but says he has a hard time remembering which day we’re supposed to put out the garbage cans.

He’s the guy who needs eight kinds of hot sauce in the refrigerator. He’s the one who hates clothing with any visible brand name. Once, not long ago, I found he’d snipped a tiny Gap label from the side seam of an otherwise perfectly plain black sweat shirt.

That’s my boy. Forgive me, but I’ll be using that “b” word for quite some time. He’s a boy to me, and it’s a compliment.

A few weeks ago, Santa brought son No. 2, aka the little kid, a “Star Wars” Darth Vader light saber. More than a few years ago, Santa brought son No. 1 a “Star Wars” Luke Skywalker light saber.

The other night, with weapons powered by new batteries, hero and villain turned out the living room lights and had it out.

They’re both boys; I could tell by the orange and green glow of their sabers.

Anyway, on Saturday, this boy of mine will have a whole new world open to him – not all of it as wonderful as he is.

He’ll be able to buy cigarettes, although he can’t legally sip a beer until he turns 21.

He could be tried in adult court and sent to adult prison. He could get a credit card and ruin his finances for years to come. He could get married without my permission and ruin a lot more than his credit.

He could work at the Tulalip Casino, but couldn’t gamble there until he turns 21. He could get a job at Blockbuster Video, where the minimum age is 18. He could join the Army without my permission, go to boot camp, and be sent to Iraq.

He’ll register with the Selective Service System. (Shhhh! don’t say “draft.”) He’ll register to vote, too, though what he thinks about the accuracy of our election process is anyone’s guess.

In a lot of ways, officialdom will consider my son an adult; my son, the lanky guy who leaves a fraction of a cup of milk in the bottom of the jug so he won’t have to rinse it and put it in the recycling bin.

When I mentioned all this about voting and joining the Army to a co-worker, he shot back across his desk, “But can he do the laundry?”

Well, no, not exactly. He puts stuff in the dryer.

Parents know what an adult looks like, and if you ask me, the typical 18-year-old bears little resemblance to one. Research is on my side.

Every couple of years, the National Science Foundation lends support to a study by the National Opinion Research Center called the General Social Survey. Researchers pose all sorts of questions to people over the age of – yup – 18. Part of the survey focuses on perceptions of adulthood.

Here, from the May 13, 2003, issue of the University of Chicago Chronicle, are findings from the 2002 study, titled “Coming of Age in 21st-Century America.” The survey asked 1,398 people at what age they expect young adults to complete certain transitions.

Becoming self-supporting was seen as the first step, at 20.9 years old, followed by living independently of parents (21.1), having a full-time job (21.2), completing schooling (22.3), being able to financially support a family (24.5), getting married (25.7), and having a child (26.2).

There’s no mention of an 18-year-old shouldering any of those responsibilities. The survey respondents must be parents, huh?

When I was 18, Alice Cooper had a hit with “I’m Eighteen.” He kind of screamed it, “I’m 18 and I don’t know what I want, 18, I just don’t know what I want.”

Remember how it ends? “Well I like it, love it, like it, love it, 18, 18, 18, I’m 18 and I like it.”

Who knows how the government figures 18 equals adulthood. But those lyrics sound just like someone I know.

Happy birthday, Bill.

Columnist Julie Muhlstein: 425-339-3460 or muhlsteinjulie@heraldnet.com.