 |
| Shield your eyes, children. Shield your eyes. |
I've officially been eighteen for two weeks. Everyone seems to look forward to that date, but so far as I can tell, the only difference between eighteen and seventeen is I can go to big kid jail. Even that's not a guarantee. Whenever I read an article about a teenage criminal, they always get tried as an adult. Then again, I'm only reading about newsworthy cases.
My English class has been reading Hamlet. Since Shakespeare is meant to be seen, not stared at on a page, we get to watch a movie. That means permission slips.
"I don't have to get a signature on this if I'm eighteen, right?" I asked my teacher.
She shook her head. "Not unless you're living on your own in an apartment."
Later, my mom showed up to check me out of for a doctor appointment. We asked the attendance office secretary if I could do it myself from now on.
She laughed at us. "Oh, heavens, no. You're still her legal guardian."
I can die for my country. I can vote, except I can't. I can drop out of high school, but heaven forbid I sign myself out for a day.
No comments:
Post a Comment