I am employed in the word business, so it is with chagrin and vexation that I admit never having heard or read about “adultist” behavior until I clapped eyes on a story about Khymani James.
Young James (17 years old) reportedly resigned as the Boston School Committee’s student representative over dissatisfaction with how he and fellow students were treated by school administrators.
He is quoted in a Boston Globe story as branding administrators as “racist and adultist,” giving rise to my question of the day: If you want to be treated with respect, do you take your ball and leave the playground because you don’t like the way others are playing?
Words like adultist enjoy popularity thanks to social media’s penchant for allowing all of us to quickly label each other without doing it face-to-face. Adultist and adultism conjure up that other beloved word — privilege — as in grownups abusing their power and privilege to lord it over young people.
To his credit, James stepped up by assuming the role of student representative. He was shocked, according to the Globe story, that adult school administrators were not completely accountable to him. Sorry, buddy, but office politics, shifting power alliances, and tailoring the truth to fit expediency’s confines are — like it or not — adult-world realities.
James’ trevails remind me of the morning the late Tim Cohane, a celebrated newsman who taught one of the most sought-after classes at Boston University, abruptly and unceremoniously kicked me out of his class — not for the day — permanently.
I made the mistake of thinking his favorable response to something I wrote gave me carte blanche to miss an appointment with him (it conflicted with my late-night inebriation and club-going schedule).
After staggering out of his class that morning, I wandered around Boston for most of the day, shell-shocked by a strong blast of adult reality.
Of course, my brush with adultist behavior was far different from the one that aggrieved young James. But I did not grab my ball and go home. By the end of that fateful day, I resolved to become a writer.
I’m sure Tim Cohane never read another word I wrote, but in my more than four decades being paid to write, I have thought about him often and about the lesson he taught me.
The tough part about being a kid is that adults want you to behave like a grownup (shake hands, sit up straight at the table, look people in the eye) even though you are a kid. I was condemned on more than one occasion by my parents for being a “panty waist” (still not sure exactly what that means) and for “lollygagging” (sounds like Scottish for goofing off).
On one memorable family trip, my behavior (no doubt, lollygagging combined with “back-talking”) prompted my father to rename me Mud. That moniker conferred during a fit of pique is still a source of sibling amusement.
Khymani James apparently saw his role as student representative as holding the adults in the room accountable. As most adults would gladly advise the 17 year old, holding people accountable is a rough-and-tumble job that usually results in hurt feelings or firings.
Branding grownups as “adultist” and walking away from the fight doesn’t translate into accountability; it translates into childish behavior.
Sixty-two year-old me would advise 17-year-old James to get back into the fight and stand his ground. Even more important, I would urge him to hold onto being a kid for as long as he can. Believe me, the tough old world is more than willing to wait around for you to grow up and show up to take your licks.
