A meander down Nostagia Way
Childhood is something you never appreciate when you are experiencing it. Your days are spent having people wake you up, cook for you, clean for you and buy you everything you need. The only thing you have to do is go to school and learn. It was a small price to pay for having all your needs taken care of.
Looking back I have no idea why I fought my parents so much, possibly the insanity of my youth. I swore my mom and dad were against me at every turn: buying me clothes, making me learn at school, taking me on vacation, making me play piano and going to church. What was I complaining about? Good grief, in order to do that now I’d have to pay someone a lot of money to get that kind of service, and my parents did it for FREE! They drove me where I wanted to go. And it wasn’t only me, but my friends, too. Try and do that as an adult and you have to pay to have someone drive you places and they are not half as friendly. When my parents would let me out of the car they had something nice to say. Try and get a taxi driver to say something like, “Be careful honey” as you leave their cab and all you get is a bewildered look and a, “Just give me my money lady, it was a cab ride not a proposal”.
I’m not sure when this contemplation of life begins to happen. I don’t remember reflecting on the generosity of my parents in my 20s. And most of my 30s I spent chasing my own children and there was no energy left over to spend chasing after old memories. But….something about being middle aged, there is a reflective moment. I suspect it has to do with being called middle aged. I mean, let’s face it, when we are “middle aged” that means the “beginning age” is done and the next stage is the “final stage.” This is a bit disconcerting. Mostly I’m not sure when the final age will hit. Mentally I’m a child, but some days physically I feel like Methuselah. If we are going on averages, I’m in a wee bit of a pickle. I might technically be past “middle aged” and edging into “final stage.” And I’ll be honest, I haven’t prepared for final stage because middle age snuck up on me like a ninja. This kind of scares me because my “beginning ages” bypassed me like a single NASCAR lap. At least that is what it feels like now.
Looking back, now I’m the one doing the chauffeuring, buying the clothes and making the kids do all the things they complain about. As I nag them to do their chores for the 400th time this week, I envy them. This is honestly the best time they will have in their lives. Their mother cannot fire them, cannot suspend them, cannot send them to court, and cannot fine them for not doing what they are supposed to do. This is the only time in their lives the worst thing that will happen to them is their mom is going to nag them. Seriously, this is their biggest issue right now. Nagging. I have to pay the parking ticket….they have to worry about someone telling them to pick up the dog poo. I have to worry about paying the taxes on the house…..they worry about getting their clothes downstairs to be washed.
I don’t believe in shirking my responsibility…..but I will be the first to admit I would give it away in a heart beat. I would love to trade back my days of having my mother tell me to clean my room if that means I could ride my bike all over town without a care in sight. I would love to have my parents tell me how wrong I was breaking curfew after a movie (like say Aliens). I would like to convince my kids the worst thing they will have to deal with is me right now. And in comparison to the rest of the world, I’m not that scary. The weight they believe they feel is resting on their shoulders is actually their shoulders feeling the weight of their parents propping them up.
But, this is the burden of parenting….we have children that will not appreciate us until they get children of their own. Then they will look at us as I look at my own parents. It is a kind of wonder in their eyes. The look essentially asks the question, “How did you put up with me without selling me to the nearest band of gypsies?”
I already know that answer. Gypsies are not that easy to find. No matter how hard to you look for them. One day I hope to find them. If they won't take my children, maybe they have an opening for a middle aged, entry level piker. I worked for a major corpration, I can't imagine it is really all that different.
Looking back I have no idea why I fought my parents so much, possibly the insanity of my youth. I swore my mom and dad were against me at every turn: buying me clothes, making me learn at school, taking me on vacation, making me play piano and going to church. What was I complaining about? Good grief, in order to do that now I’d have to pay someone a lot of money to get that kind of service, and my parents did it for FREE! They drove me where I wanted to go. And it wasn’t only me, but my friends, too. Try and do that as an adult and you have to pay to have someone drive you places and they are not half as friendly. When my parents would let me out of the car they had something nice to say. Try and get a taxi driver to say something like, “Be careful honey” as you leave their cab and all you get is a bewildered look and a, “Just give me my money lady, it was a cab ride not a proposal”.
I’m not sure when this contemplation of life begins to happen. I don’t remember reflecting on the generosity of my parents in my 20s. And most of my 30s I spent chasing my own children and there was no energy left over to spend chasing after old memories. But….something about being middle aged, there is a reflective moment. I suspect it has to do with being called middle aged. I mean, let’s face it, when we are “middle aged” that means the “beginning age” is done and the next stage is the “final stage.” This is a bit disconcerting. Mostly I’m not sure when the final age will hit. Mentally I’m a child, but some days physically I feel like Methuselah. If we are going on averages, I’m in a wee bit of a pickle. I might technically be past “middle aged” and edging into “final stage.” And I’ll be honest, I haven’t prepared for final stage because middle age snuck up on me like a ninja. This kind of scares me because my “beginning ages” bypassed me like a single NASCAR lap. At least that is what it feels like now.
Looking back, now I’m the one doing the chauffeuring, buying the clothes and making the kids do all the things they complain about. As I nag them to do their chores for the 400th time this week, I envy them. This is honestly the best time they will have in their lives. Their mother cannot fire them, cannot suspend them, cannot send them to court, and cannot fine them for not doing what they are supposed to do. This is the only time in their lives the worst thing that will happen to them is their mom is going to nag them. Seriously, this is their biggest issue right now. Nagging. I have to pay the parking ticket….they have to worry about someone telling them to pick up the dog poo. I have to worry about paying the taxes on the house…..they worry about getting their clothes downstairs to be washed.
I don’t believe in shirking my responsibility…..but I will be the first to admit I would give it away in a heart beat. I would love to trade back my days of having my mother tell me to clean my room if that means I could ride my bike all over town without a care in sight. I would love to have my parents tell me how wrong I was breaking curfew after a movie (like say Aliens). I would like to convince my kids the worst thing they will have to deal with is me right now. And in comparison to the rest of the world, I’m not that scary. The weight they believe they feel is resting on their shoulders is actually their shoulders feeling the weight of their parents propping them up.
But, this is the burden of parenting….we have children that will not appreciate us until they get children of their own. Then they will look at us as I look at my own parents. It is a kind of wonder in their eyes. The look essentially asks the question, “How did you put up with me without selling me to the nearest band of gypsies?”
I already know that answer. Gypsies are not that easy to find. No matter how hard to you look for them. One day I hope to find them. If they won't take my children, maybe they have an opening for a middle aged, entry level piker. I worked for a major corpration, I can't imagine it is really all that different.
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