Prodigious Parallels

There was a picture in the paper of Nicole Tan at college. Nicole is a student at UC Davis. Nicole is a junior. Nicole is bright and precocious, one could go so far as to say ahead of her time.

Nicole is 12.

It’s a number worth repeating. Twelve. I’ve got scotch older than that. And this is a third-year collegian. She’s what we old coots colloquially called a “coed,” but she hasn’t even turned the Big One-Three yet.

This kid can’t even get into a PG-13 movie by herself. (Congress hopes.) She can’t even drink scotch legally until 2009. (Lucky her.) She’s so young, she might not remember Michael Jordan. Or the first Harry Potter book. Or George W. Bush’s father. This is no baby boomer; this is a grandbaby boomer.

A 12-year-old shouldn’t have deans and professors. A 12-year- old should have Beanie Babies and braces. No 12-year-old should be a couple of years away from going to a university alumni dinner.

Yet some beat the clock.

Sometimes they just grow up in a hurry. They mature prematurely. One day they’re in day care, next day they’re in Fort Lauderdale on spring break.

Who could hazard a guess on what the future has in store for Nicole Tan? The possibilities seem unlimited. She could even become President Tan someday. Of course, she won’t be eligible to run until the election of 2024.

I just trust that everything isn’t happening too quickly for Nicole, or for others like her. After all, there is every chance that a child can proceed to have a nice, normal, nothing-special life, even after a head start.

Being a prodigy isn’t a tragedy.

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A couple of days ago, I had the pleasure of watching a new movie called “Almost Famous,” which is now appearing at a theater near you, unless there isn’t a theater near you.

Cameron Crowe wrote and directed this splendid film. (Which is often described in ads as “from the director of ‘Jerry Maguire,’ ” as if this were a new Verdi opera, “from the composer who gave you ‘La Traviata.’ ”)

I was thoroughly enjoying this tale of a 15-year-old boy who’s already a working professional, on the road on assignment-- before he can even attend his high school graduation--when suddenly the person seated beside me put a hand on my arm.

“Any of this feel familiar?” she wondered.

Funny she should ask.

My kidhood only marginally resembled that of the boy’s in the film, which was reportedly based on Crowe’s own experiences. In the story, “William” gets a shot at writing for the popular publication Rolling Stone, where the editors have no clue how immature he is. But he’s clever, he knows music and he is actually more mature than a number of the people he’s supposed to write about.

Album tastes aside, though-- Lynyrd Skynyrd yes, Led Zeppelin no--I did find parallels to my own youth, in more than one scene. And I’d been in the theater thinking exactly that, when asked how familiar it felt.

For I knew firsthand what it was like to be one of those naive, guileless kids who finds himself thrust into a world of adults way too soon. Acting grown-up around grown-ups, accepting responsibilities beyond my capabilities, I recollect this only too well.

And I was no Nicole Tan.

Similarly to the mop-topped protagonist of “Almost Famous” --yeah, my top was mopped once--I often looked around and felt like the youngest human in the room. I had skipped a grade in grade school, which put me at a social disadvantage that’s difficult to elucidate. (Let’s just say that when you’ve got crushes on 11-year-old girls, they don’t really dig 9-year-old nerds.)

When classmates were 16 with cars, I was 14 with a Schwinn. When guys on graduation day were 18 and thinking about the Army, I was 16 and working at my job. Old before my time.

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I covered a plane crash. Two corpses in a cornfield. Small craft. White sheets over the bodies when I got there. I was 16.

I covered the local cops full-time. Drank with a desk sergeant. Saw drunks cuffed and roughed up. I was 16. Got assigned to a five-alarm fire once. Saw victims brought out on stretchers. Heard one guy never did get out. I was 16.

I wasn’t a newspaperman; I was a newspaperboy. My journalism professor in college also worked part-time as a reporter. I was his editor at the paper. He said, “Show up for class, I’ll give you an A.” By then I was 17.

Growing up too fast is too weird. Companions aren’t sure how to address you, as adult or child. You in turn exhibit a false bravado. I vividly recall--not unlike the “Almost Famous” kid--selling Sports Illustrated’s editors a story in my teens. Never did get around to telling them my age.

Nicole Tan’s is no secret. She’s 12, going on 22. Where will she be in 10 years? How will she feel then, inspired or tired?

Kid, may your years ahead be almost perfect.

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Mike Downey’s column appears Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Write to: Los Angeles Times, 202 W. 1st St., Los Angeles, CA 90012. E-mail: mike.downey@latimes.com.