The Boy Who Never Grew Up

‘Grow up.’ That’s all they tell me. ‘You need to grow up and get your head out of the clouds.’ They’re right of course, but I don’t want to. What fun can you have when you’re grown up? Work, taxes, taxes, work, cook, clean, work, sleep, clean, work. Sounds extremely fun. I’ve never understood adults who tell new adults to ‘grow up’. Why? Because you can't find the same happiness from the things I like? Because my way of thinking is not normal to yours? Your form of happiness comes from wearing your favourite sports team's t-shirt and shouting at the tele, they can't hear you mate. Your form of happiness is arguing with your spouse, or a manager at a store to complain about a new worker not doing their job right, give them a break mate, you were once new at something. Of course, there are other adults who have other types of fun: partying perhaps? Not for me. The gym? Ew. Painting? Now that I can get behind. But you see, with the things I don’t enjoy, I don’t tell people to grow up. I don’t tell them that they shouldn’t enjoy those things because they’re ‘too old’. We all simply have different views. I understand this is what life is, to go to school, to go to university, then to have a job and work until you die. You get maybe 20% of your life where you can not worry about anything: when you're a child, and when you're elderly. But even then, I guess they have to worry about aching joints and who out of their spouse and friends will outlive who. ‘Grow up.’ There are still so many firsts for me and people my age. Buy a car, get a job, go to university, have a first kiss. You have had time to practice all of these, so please, don’t tell me to ‘grow up,’ because I am. And I don’t like it. Don’t tell me off when I make a small mistake, I'm sure you did something similar, you learnt and grew, so help me do the same. Don’t tell me to be someone else when I like who I am. And don’t tell me to ‘grow up.’ I will continue to watch the show I grew up with, I will continue to write my dreams down and turn them into stories. I will draw and paint like a 10-year-old because I never pushed myself to learn, but I will get better every time I draw something new. That is growing up. I will listen to the music of my childhood and find new genres and new artists because that is growing up. I am growing up. So please stop telling me to. I am growing at my own pace. If I fall back just let me rest, life shouldn’t be about hitting the throttle at full speed, let me learn where I went wrong and try again when I am ready, not when you're ready.

‘Grow up.’ It doesn’t happen overnight. I’m new to being an adult so I don’t know a lot about anything, but I can tell you a story. 

Once upon a time there was a young man, not so young that he was considered a child, but also not old enough to be an adult. Now, this young man enjoyed what wasn’t real, he enjoyed the adventures he went on in his head, the songs and stories he made up. The towns people called him strange, they shunned him away from their society because he was, in their terms, weird. He didn’t mind, in fact he had more freedom than he ever did before. He would go down to the river dressed in his imaginary armour and save the imaginary damsel in distress. One day travellers were wandering thought the woods and came across this strange boy who was fighting the air. They asked him for directions to his village.

“Why, mighty travellers,” he would say, “to get past the towering troll that inhabits the bridge you must answer his riddle. Are you prepared for that?” The travellers gave him the side eye and continued on their path, deciding not to speak to the boy again. 

“Grow up.” one of them said. The boy took off his imaginary hat and gave in. He sat on a stump and didn’t imagine it as anything else. Not a toadstool, not a dragon. Just a tree stump. He sat there listening to the stream for hours until it got dark. He made his way home to his ordinary family in his ordinary village in his ordinary world. For the next few weeks, he was working an ordinary job. He helped his father on the farm and didn’t imagine a single thing.  

“Son, when you set your mind to your work and not to you stories you can become a man, look at you now. I am proud of you.” his father said.  

“Thank you, father.” but he was not thankful. After work he decided to trek into his woods. He sat on his stump and cried. He missed his imaginary friends, his imaginary world.

“Why are you forlorn my child?” said a mysterious voice. The boy looked up and saw an old man with a long grey beard and a pointy hat and a rather large nose with a single wart, this is how he would imagine a wizard. 

“You’re not real.” the boy said. 

“Am I not?” He reached out and touched the boy's forehead. The boy shuddered at the cold touch. "Where has your spark gone? I used to see you chase dragon and save princesses, where has that boy gone? 

“He grew up.” the boy spat. 

“That’s a shame. All the best ones do, they always forget in the end and lead a miserable life. I’m sad to see you go in all honesty. I liked you, your imagination was one of a kind.” The boy said nothing to what the wizard said, but he thought about it every night. 

“Oh, before I inevitably leave, I have a message to deliver.” 

“From who?” 

“From you.” 

“What?” the boy was confused. 

“Be quiet and let me remember. Oh yes. ‘A week from now a traveller will come and ask you the way. Make him meet the troll.’” The wizard bent down to be eye to eye with the boy. “Never grow up, child. Do you hear me. Never, not for anyone but yourself. Continue to sing and dance to your own songs, make up more stories about unicorns and dragons, save the damsel. Your friends miss you.” The wizard vanished. The boy was alone. He stood up and began to run, he ran all the way to his kingdom, to his friends. To his life. He decided to change something. He didn’t want to save the princess anymore. He wanted to save a prince. 

A week later the traveller came to the boy just as the wizard said and asked for directions. The boy stood up from his toadstool and began his story. 

“Fair traveller, the only way to get to that village is to cross the bridge where the troll lives.” the boy stopped, hoping the wizard didn’t make him look like a fool for trying again. But then he heard the magic words. 

“How do I defeat this troll?” the boy threw his hood off and smiled. Our boy was lost for words, for this is the prince he saved from the tower. With his blonde hair and his warm brown eyes. His face, the same age as our boy.  

“You must answer his riddle.” 

“Then take me to him.” Our boy led the new boy towards the bridge, when they got there our boy was scared the prince would not see the troll. But he did. “My, what a large troll this is.” The troll growled in response. “My apologies.” the prince said. “Let me hear your riddle so I may cross.” 

“I am tall when I’m young, and I am short when I’m old. What am I?” Our boy said in his best troll voice. The prince laughed. He thought long and hard about his answer. 

“A candle!” The troll had disappeared, the bridge was free to cross.

“Come with me.” said the prince. They crossed the bridge together.

“Grow up. Can you believe they're still asking me to do that?” said our boy. But he was no longer a boy, he was a man, and he was holding hands with another man, walking through a wood. “My prince,” he bowed, “would you allow me the privilege to never grow up?” 

Our prince stood tall and strong. “Why yes, my troll slayer, I give you the privilege to never grow up. As long as I can do it with you.” 

And that is the end of the story. The boy grew up. But he did not do it alone, he had his prince. Was the prince real you ask? Well, are your dreams real? Of course not, but why should that mean that you can't wish them to be. Everyone needs a happy ending, even our boy who never grew up. And I think I shall join him.