That's What I Thought...Let Me Speak with an Adult.

That's what a miffed, and somewhat over-protective, mother told me a few weeks ago in Denton. After a lengthy phone conversation about what does and does not constitute vandalism, she proceeded to inquire about my age. More specifically, she asked:

"Are you a boy or a man?"

Confused as to what bearing this had on our conversation, I replied "I'm one of the coordinators at this session."

"You didn't answer my question. How old are you?"

"Ma'am, I am twenty eight years old."

"That's what I thought...let me speak with an adult."

Ahh...the joys of being a coordinator. Someone remind me...why do I submit myself to this? Despite what this sweet sister implied, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, I have a good paying job at a Fortune 100 company, and an overall contributing member of adult society. Right...? Anyway, a more complete blog about my final summer of EFY will shortly follow after everything is said and done, but just had to get this off my not-yet-matured chest.