"You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.” ― Madeleine L'Engle

This is the trolley I ride to and from work everyday. It is never short of fascinating conversations to be overheard, and in fact, has inspired my next book. Last week, I was sitting close to the front of the bus, facing the seats reserved for the disabled and elderly. A young boy, no older than eight was occupying one of them, surveying with wide eyes. At one stop, a man walked on. I wouldn't peg him as a "senior," but he was certainly older. The young boy immediately hopped off his seat and tapped the man's thigh. "Excuse me, do you want to sit down?" My heart melted. The man looked down and grinned, clearly finding the scene both humorous and touching. Humorous because he probably wasn't that old. Kids think adults are one hundred years old.

A few days later, an older brother and his younger sister were waiting with their mom at my stop. The siblings were bickering amongst themselves, as their mom occasionally stepped in to reprimand them. I found it a bit puzzling how uncommitted she was to quietening them. Oh well, I thought to myself, kids will be kids. When the trolley finally rolled up, something peculiar happened: the kids stopped fighting. The brother, probably five or six, looked at the line of people waiting to get on the trolley. "You go on first, you go on first," he repeated to each person, with air-traffic-control-esque hand gestures. 

That same day, a couple stops later, a man entered while making a complete spectacle of himself. "You are a moron. Who do you f-ing think you are anyway? Get a real job." At first, I thought he was on the phone. It was worse. He was communicating with a ticket collector who was entering the trolley for a spot-check. I looked over at the mom and her kids. The kids were bickering again and this time, it became very clear to me why she was not inclined to stopping them. Consumed in their own world, they were immune to the negative influences surrounding them. 

The "Nature Versus Nurture" debate is a fundamental and never-ending one in psychology. It questions the relative importance of inherent qualities versus environmental factors in determining people's personalities and behaviors.

During the rest of my ride, I couldn't help but feel a little sad. I imagined the screaming man as a young boy. Was he as nice as the bickering children or that other nice boy from a few days ago? Was he jaded by people like himself causing scenes on the trolley? Or had he always been easily excitable? What kind of world do we live in that a mother leaves her children to fight amongst themselves so they can effectively ignore what's going on around them? 

I typically read while on the trolley and am currently reading Dave Eggers's The Wild Things, a novel based off Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are. So far, the book has been endlessly insightful as Eggers picks apart intricate nuances of a child's psyche. In this rendition, Max goes off to be with the wild things because his sister, now a teenager, no longer cares to be friends with her immature baby brother. His mom, divorced and dating a new man, doesn't care for Max's opinion of this man who is not dad. So wrapped up in their own lives, they drive young Max away. 

Transitioning into adulthood, I continually reminded myself to act and think like an "adult." At a loss to know what that really means, I've simply looked to other sophisticated people as idols. But between my adventures on the F-line and books like that of Eggers, I'm starting to reevaluate my schema. There's some value in maintaining a thin layer of childlike qualities -- keen perception, endless kindness, and unequivocal respect. Yes, kids will be kids. But sometimes, for the benefit of our society, I wish adults would be kids as well.