The Oldest Youngest 20 year old I know

Today is presidential Election Day in Spain. It's between Zapatero and Rohoy, meaning basically Mr. Socialist or Slightly Less Socialist. I don’t think they actually even let Republicans past customs, Dad. Anyways, Election day here reminded me of Election day there, and how I can vote this year, and how technically that makes me Old, but even though my best friend turned 21 last week and I have the haircut of a 40 year old, I still feel like I do a lot of quite childish things amidst my seemingly adult life.

According to my resume, I’m an adult. I have three jobs as an English teacher, two with younger kids, and one with two teenagers. But then, I get home from work and Laurel and I have our lentils and ask how each other’s day was, and my stories always seem to be something like “We dressed up like ducks and ate chocolate!” or “We talked about Harry Potter” or “We wrote wishes on hundreds of white balloons and released them into the sky.”

Now, for the record, I am in no way insinuating that a Harry Potter conversation is a juvenile one, but still. These are things I get paid for. Last week I took Alba and Oscar (the twins that understand English and are gradually agreeing to speak it with me) to the park and found a four-leaf clover and it was the highlight of my week. Then I taught Marcos, Ernesto, and Maria (the 4 year old that don’t speak or understand English) words for clothing by playing dress up with them. These aren’t the specifics that you put on your resume.

According to my meals, I’m old. Fish is making a more frequent appearance. In Segovia I ate Cuchinillo, which is baby pig, which came out with the hoof still attached, which baby Sacha would have rather been video recorded whining for 4 hours than eat. But, whether it was the setting of having a view of the Roman Aqueducts outside our window or the whole actual maturity of my taste buds themselves, it was actually pretty tasty. Tender even. Soft as a (pig) baby’s bottom.

But then there’s the non-meal food. When us kids go to the candy store, we’re like kids in a candy store. One such candy store was in Salamanca, where I just spent this weekend. Salamanca is like Spanish college town, because of La Universidad de Salamanca. It was precious and slightly reminiscent of Corvallis, but more in a “there’s people my age everywhere” kind of way than a “Oh wow, this 15th century Cathedral looks like that one by the 20th century agriculture building” kind of way. Actually, one part of the cathedral was 20th century. In 1993, some sculptor who must think he’s pretty hilarious carved an astronaut in among all the Saints. Apparently it bothered the Spaniards for a while, but now, as Rick Steve informed us they shrug their shoulders and say, “Well, he’s the closest to God.” Also, below the astronaut is a dragon eating an ice-cream cone. And, returning to non-adult foods, the best part of the day was buying ice cream and candy and lying in the sun in Plaza Mayor for hours with the rest of the Spanish students “our age.”

According to Laurel’s birthday party last week, we’re old. But we didn’t do our taxes or start collecting stamps or whatever other specific grown up things you’re supposed to do on a 21st birthday. We made a rainbow chocolate sprinkle cake. And there were candles, singing, and even a tiara involved.

But tomorrow, it’s back to school and work and eating lentils. It just looks like I’m the oldest youngest 20 year old I know, which luckily puts me right back at 20, but that still doesn’t solve the question of who I should vote for in November.

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