The Day I Became an Adult

There seemed to be a peculiar aroma of fate wafting through the lowlands of the Savannah today. At daybreak, I knew not the outcome of the day. Yet fate has a way of carrying about its business without much heed to public opinion. And as was my fate from the beginning, I would cash in the day an adult.
Perhaps some thought my day already had come. There are all sorts of circumstances in which we measure the term. The U.S. Government handed me my certificate on my 18th birthday. On that day, I was on the football field "chucking and ducking" the pigskin. Any opposing linebacker could attest the horror in my eyes rang true as cowardliness, not a trait reserved for any adult.
Out East, Wall Street brokers rely on monetary figures. Bank your first million near Battery Park and you can start thinking about calling yourself a self-respecting adult.
A little West, those tough old dudes in Wyoming gauge the term by how many bucks you've got mounted on the wall. Those tweedy bumpkins don't assume a thing if a 12-pointer stares dumbly over the fireplace.
But I didn’t enter adulthood on any of these grounds. Neither did I enter adulthood by losing a loved one in some horrible tragedy, going to war, or misplacing anything beginning with the letter v.
Nope. I entered adulthood today, quite unexpectedly. Let’s see if I can present some of the details.

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The day began at 3:45 a.m., an odd hour to begin the day, yet it was our first day officially teaching at the school in Ogaro. I ate my oats, reviewed some notes, and thought what it meant to be a teacher. I showered and dressed.
Something about my apparel filled me with a grand sense of satisfaction. My dress shirt of choice, custom-made pants (coming in at a slim four American dollars), and
Chacos filled my head with cozy “good volunteer” sentiments.
“Look at me!” I said to my reflection. “I’m a teacher. What a day!”

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As I stood in front of the class, the lazy eyes and uninterested faces were, admittedly, all too familiar. But alas! My better half and I delivered a riveting (if not riveting, presentable) lecture on the decomposition rates of different materials, demonstrating that throwing a mango peel and a glass bottle into a field are not the same thing. Who knows, maybe a few kids even learned a thing or two.

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Fresh off the euphoria of a successful first class, I was riding home with Sakundja, a local buddy of thirteen years. He began popping a few wheelies with his old derelict of a bike. Then, with an audacity befitting of his age, he poked that I couldn’t pull one off myself.
In younger days, many lazy summer evenings were spent on Jefferson Drive lifting my front tire in the air for a spin. Reasonably, I was a good deal taken aback by such a claim. Instinct took hold and my eyes began scanning upcoming divots where I could successfully launch myself. I saw myself sailing across the sultry Sahelian sun, like that fabulous silhouetted image of E.T.
“I can do it!” I bellowed with one hand in the air, prematurely claiming a "mission accomplished."
What ensued was quite different. How much space was in between my front tire and the ground is unclear, although it’s safe to say I missed my mark. Upon landing, my quick-release tire “quickly released”, the impact jarring my tire completely from its hold. The tire jetted back towards the body of the bike, instantly wedging itself between my left pedal and front frame. This, in turn, caused my front dropouts, where my front tire connects to the frame, to plant firmly into the dirt. Had my bike been in a gymnastics meet, a perfect ten would have been awarded.
When the dust cleared, I rejoiced, in a sort of bittersweet fashion, that I was alive, all appendages intact.

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Now I’m not sure about this business of adulthood. Who’s an adult and who’s not, it’s a tricky game. Perhaps it’s a silly term that don’t mean nottin’. If we can conclude the term does have a little validity though, then I am one.
What is an adult, but one (a teacher nonetheless) who tries to do what was once done in younger days with ease, but is no longer able to do? Having a thirteen year-old there to witness the spectacle just added injury to insult.