Coming of age is one of the oldest and most relatable themes in literature. Everyone has to grow up, but the process rarely looks the same for any two people. Sometimes the transition from adolescence to adulthood is slow and subtle, a gradual accumulation of responsibility and understanding. Other times, it is sharp, sudden and painful. In Joyce Carol Oates’s Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? and John Updike’s A & P, coming of age looks very different, but both stories offer a powerful snapshot of what it means to leave innocence behind.
Each story follows a young character standing at the edge of a major turning point. Their stories are short, just a few pages each, but they capture a specific emotional truth about growing up that lingers long after reading. These are not feel-good tales about teenage triumph. They are quiet, tense and in some cases disturbing. But that is what makes them honest. They capture the confusion, recklessness and fear that often come with crossing into adulthood.
Connie’s Story: The End of Illusion
In Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?, Oates introduces us to Connie, a 15-year-old girl whose life is split in two. At home, she is dismissive of her family, annoyed by her mother, and often compared unfavorably to her older sister. Out in the world, she tries to embody a confident, older version of herself. She sneaks out to meet boys, experiments with flirting and sees her looks as her most valuable trait. In her mind, being noticed by men is power. She wants to be grown-up, though she is still very much a teenager.
One summer day, her parents and sister leave for a family barbecue, and Connie stays home alone. She lounges around the house, listening to music, lost in her thoughts. Then a strange car pulls into the driveway. Arnold Friend steps out, who says he met her once before. He is older, maybe thirty, and he speaks in an awkward, sometimes forced way that mimics teenage slang. He calls her “sweetheart” and “blue-eyed baby.” Something about him feels off, even as he flatters her.
Arnold tells her he is there to take her for a ride. When Connie hesitates, he becomes more insistent. The conversation shifts from flirtation to menace. He knows her name, her friends, where her family is. He even knows things about her house that he should not. The longer they talk, the more obvious it becomes that Arnold is dangerous. He threatens her in subtle but chilling ways, telling her she has no choice but to come with him. He warns that if she calls for help, her family will suffer.
Connie is terrified. She is paralyzed by fear and confusion. In those moments, all her earlier confidence vanishes. She realizes how powerless she truly is. In the end, she opens the door and walks out toward him. The story ends there, leaving readers to imagine what happens next. It is likely not good.
This story is not about empowerment. It is about illusion being shattered. Connie starts off believing she understands how to act like a grown woman, but she is still a child in many ways. She thinks she is in control because she knows how to attract attention. But that control is only surface deep. When faced with real danger, she has no tools to protect herself. Her coming of age is brutal. She does not get to choose it. It is thrust upon her.
Oates uses this disturbing situation to show how vulnerable teenage girls can be, especially when the world reduces them to their appearance. Connie is not foolish for wanting to grow up, but she is unprepared for the dangers that come with being seen as an adult before she is ready.
There is also something deeply unsettling in the way Arnold speaks. He tries to imitate teen talk, but he keeps slipping. His language is too smooth, too rehearsed. It makes him feel like a predator trying to blend in. This false familiarity makes him even more threatening, because it shows he understands how to manipulate young girls.
The blurred boundary between childhood and adulthood is at the heart of Connie’s story. Her family still treats her like a child. But men like Arnold treat her like an object of desire. Neither view allows her to be a full person. Her coming of age is about losing that in-between space where she could still pretend to be in control. It is about realizing that the world will not always wait for you to grow up on your own terms.
Sammy’s Story: The Price of a Bold Move
In John Updike’s A & P, the narrator is a 19-year-old grocery store cashier named Sammy. On an ordinary summer day, three girls walk into the store wearing bathing suits. They are clearly out of place in the fluorescent-lit aisles of canned food and checkout counters. Sammy is instantly fixated on them, especially the one he nicknames “Queenie.” He imagines her as upper-class, confident, self-assured. She becomes, in his mind, a symbol of something freer and more exciting than his small-town job.
As the girls wander the store, Sammy watches them closely, narrating his impressions with a mix of humor, judgment and fascination. But then his manager, Lengel, sees them and scolds them for being improperly dressed. He tells them they need to show respect for the store. Sammy is offended. He thinks the manager is being petty, and he wants to stand up for the girls. So, in a spontaneous act of protest, he quits his job.
He expects a reaction. Maybe the girls will notice. Maybe they will thank him. But by the time he gets out to the parking lot, they are gone. He is alone. The gesture, bold as it was, means nothing to them. But it means everything to him.
Sammy’s coming of age is not traumatic like Connie’s, but it is quietly painful. It is about realizing that doing the right thing does not always feel rewarding. That people may not care about your principles. That standing up for something can leave you alone.
Still, his decision matters. It marks a turning point in how he sees himself. He knows he cannot go back to who he was before. Quitting the job is not just about the girls. It is about pushing back against conformity, against authority, against a life that already feels too small.
What makes this story resonate is how ordinary it is. Sammy is not a hero. He is a bored teenager with a decent sense of humor and a restless mind. But in a single moment, he chooses discomfort over ease. He steps into adult life not with fanfare, but with quiet resignation. He learns that independence often comes with loneliness.
Updike captures the messy, in-between moment when someone starts thinking for themselves but still wants recognition for it. Sammy thinks he is making a grand, romantic gesture. But the real lesson is that sometimes, doing what feels right leaves you standing alone in the heat, watching the world move on without you.
Two Young People, One Common Truth
Connie and Sammy could not be more different. One is a teenage girl trapped in a dangerous situation. The other is a teenage boy trying to make a statement. But both stories reveal how quickly the ground can shift beneath you when you are young. Both characters are pushed into adulthood in uncomfortable, irreversible ways. They each come to see that their illusions about life, control and self-image are just that – illusions.
Growing up is not a clean break or a clear line. It often happens in moments that feel strange or unsettling. Sometimes you do not realize it is happening until afterward. These stories are valuable not because they show perfect growth, but because they show real growth, which is the kind that comes with pain, confusion and the uncomfortable awareness that the world is not what you thought it was.
Works Cited
Oates, Joyce Carol. Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? First published in Epoch, 1966.
Updike, John. A & P. First published in The New Yorker, July 22, 1961.
Quinlan, Kieran. “Connie’s Tambourine Man: A New Reading of Oates’s ‘Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?’” Studies in Short Fiction, vol. 23, no. 2, 1986, pp. 219–224.
Pritchard, William H. Updike: America’s Man of Letters. University of Massachusetts Press, 2005.
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