As he enters senior year, Daffodile grows increasingly unsure of where his life is heading. For forever it seems he took footsteps according to his strict father's instruction – to become a botanist, but is it what truly makes him happy? He grew distant from all old friends, all optimism, and from his inner child. As his hometown enters the age of television (1950s) and people become increasingly antisocial, he witnesses it all grow grayer. Is this what adulting is supposed to feel like?