Grade school has tons of markers to remind you that you’re growing up, whether it’s birthdays, a mark of your height on the wall, learning a new math skill, or […]

If you’re having a good day, I’d rather you not read this. I mean, you wouldn’t want to taint your sunny morning with thoughts of the inevitable pre-quarterlife crisis. Sorry. Did that ruin your morning? Now that you’re upset, you’re emotionally ready to finish reading this.

I had the privilege of going roller skating with some of my friends in St. Charles a couple of weeks ago. When they invited me, I had the image in my mind of the skating rinks I am used to at home: 12-year-olds tentatively inching across a dirty, greased sheet of plastic set to the soundtrack of cheesy oldies music and the admonitions of its crotchety old owner.

My family had two important milestones this weekend. The first was my little brother’s bar mitzvah. For those of you who have somehow spent at least a semester at Wash. U. without learning about this Jewish rite of passage, that means that my 13-year-old brother is now officially considered an adult…at least according to Judaism. Legally, thankfully, still not so much.

They are too tight, too uncomfortable, and my thighs are too big, but it was for Halloween, and I chose to be a hipster. My friends and I planned it two or three weeks in advance: We would dress up as random counterculture groups and beg for candy at the Central West End as a nostalgic act of silliness.

And outside the ethical implications of not treating students like adults, there is an even more serious social-justice aspect to the question.