Mr. Brandolini's Assignment

i. DEFINE: 'ADULT'

i.

DEFINE: ‘ADULT’

 This was the deceptively simple and slightly baffling demand put forth to us on Thursday afternoon in Mr. Brandolini’s English class. Jürgen, who had until then been feeding me bits of his leftover lunch cheese croissant, made an apprehensive noise in the back of his throat – as he was wont to do, considering he was German and their whole language is backthroaty noises. I, however, saw no cause for surprise, concern, or apprehension – all three indicate expectations that were surpassed, unmet, or met, but unexpectedly; our attitude towards Mr. Brandolini (or so I was given to believe) was one of a polite lack of expectation whatsoever. So his deviation from our reading of Lady Windermere’s Fan that Thursday was not something that raised my eyebrows.

 He was leaning against the front of the table, pulling at the hem of his shirt and observing all of us as if he expected us to give him the answer he probably wanted, which, I was certain, none of us had.

 ‘Well?’

 Some poor child in the front row thought they’d be smart.

 ‘An adult, sir, is someone who has attained full size and strength, grown up, or matured.’

 ‘Jenny, if I wanted that answer I could’ve logged onto dictionary.com.’

 Jürgen resumed his supply of cold croissant bits. We were sitting in the back – plus, Mr. Brandolini didn’t mind food in the class.

 ‘This could be entertaining,’ Jürgen said in my ear. I nodded.

 ‘Already is.’

 Gita Ramakrishnan tried to go next.

 ‘Sir, an adult is someone who has achieved some level of…emotional maturity?’

 ‘Ouch,’ Jürgen muttered. Mr. Brandolini looked like he was about to giggle.

 ‘I can assure you, Gita, that this definition does not apply to most adults I know.’

 Everyone was silent. I brushed the crumbs off my lap.

 ‘An adult, Mr. Brandolini, is a myth.’

 ‘Leena Mathew into the attack,’ I heard Jürgen whisper next to me. ‘Right off the mark with a crippling blow to the offensive.’

 Mr. Brandolini looked at me interestedly and I gave him what I hoped was a sufficiently self-deprecatory smile.

 ‘Please elaborate, Miss Mathew.’

 He was humouring me. He knew exactly what I meant.

 ‘A playful feint by the opposition,’ the running commentary went on. ‘The audience eagerly awaits Leena Mathew’s next move.’

 ‘I mean, sir, that an adult is a social construct. Adulthood is a concept shoved down our throats, created for the sake of legality and ease of order – you know the strategy. Divide and rule.’

 ‘And the crowd erupts! Leena Mathew hits big with a strike that crumbles the opponent’s defense!’

 Mr. Brandolini, if he could hear Jürgen’s (adorable) nonsense, ignored it.

 ‘Very interesting, Leena. Very interesting. Hmm. So you’re saying that society has – metaphorically speaking – embedded in us some sort of mental…ah, chip, that activates once we reach some agreed-upon age? Eighteen, twenty-one?’

 ‘Essentially.’

 ‘And the activation of this chip is the switch to that great, deathly realm of adulthood?’