I’m not quite sure what is prompting me to write about this, but it is something that has been painfully obvious to me recently. Today was the first day I have had fast food for lunch in a long while. That fact is not terribly significant. But I love people watching as I sit and eat my Classic Double and my small chili with cheese and onion. (Don’t worry, I mint or use gum as not to offend my co-workers). It rained pretty hard while I was out today … and as I sat there macking on fries, I watched a small family come in the restaurant. A small boy and a girl. Mom. Grandma.
It kind of made me think about being little. Watching the boy lead his little sister around by the hand. The little girl wanting to explore on her own. She was covered in pink from head to toe … similar to my sister, except for the fact that my sister absolutely hated the color pink. As we grew older, her independence stripped me of my “Big Brother” rights and responsibilities. But that’s another story in itself.
I continued to watch. The kid was remarkably loud and obnoxious; slightly precocious, but just enough for you not to hate him. Similar to me, he thought he was the poo … even though his feet didn’t touch the floor. It got me thinking, trying to remember what it was like to be that small. Trying to remember what the world looked like from a 4 ft. perspective and child-like innocence. It’s hard to remember.
But I can remember wanting to be older. Bigger. As a kid, you’re so excited to grow up and do things. Adult things. You can’t wait to vote. Drive. Be done with homework and ever having to think about algebra. But there’s a downside to growing up. Getting old.
Not many things scare me. Well, at least the things I’m willing to publicly admit. But getting old scares me. Those of you that are close to me know that I spend a lot of time with my grandparents. I lived with them during college and even though I’m out on my own now, you’d think a still live with them! And equally surprising, they don’t seem to be sick of me yet (and if they are, they do a good job of hiding it!) Now don’t get me wrong … both of my grandparents are well into their 80s and both seem to have more energy than I do at times. But the underlying frailty of getting older becomes more apparent with each passing day. It’s a constant reminder that we are human. And human is not forever.
However, that’s not what I thought 22 years ago. I thought my grandparents with live forever. At least, that’s what I wanted to believe . But the theories of a five year-old are slightly flawed. After all, can you really take someone who ties to towel around their neck and jumps off the stairs expecting to fly seriously?
I didn’t think so.
I was at a church service last night up in Rancho Santa Fe. Beautiful music. After the service, the congregation was instructed to leave the building in silence. The lights were dimmed. All of a sudden, there arose such a clatter. Someone had fallen … and he couldn’t get up. I make light of it now since the dude is okay … but an older gentlemen, who couldn’t see where he was going, stumbled over a row of chairs and fell to the ground. Immediately, about eight people rushed to his aid and attended to him. It reminded me of someone else I know who falls down a lot.
It’s painful. Physically, yes. But I can only imagine the pain and frustration of not being able to do things on your own. To have to depend on other people for things. I’m sure it gets downright annoying at times.
In retrospect, I wouldn’t mind having someone to do my laundry or make me dinner. I wouldn’t mind not having to pay for a car, an apartment, food, or life’s other necessities. I wouldn’t mind having someone to drive me places (except, of course, if there was a cute girl involved). Oh wait, I forgot that girls have cooties. Nevermind …
But it’s a trade-off. You give up the convenience of a maid, a cook, and a chauffeur so you can stay out all night and eat pizza and ice cream for dinner. But sometimes freedom is a drag. And sometimes, it’s pretty darn expensive. But as the years go by and your freedoms dwindle away involuntarily, you remember the “good old days” and what it was like to tie your shoes on your own. Or go to the store for some milk. Or go for a walk. The unknown is something so … unknown. And I would be lying if I said that didn’t scare me a little. But … we’ll see what happens.
What I ought to do is tell you about how I used to make forts in my grandma’s living room … or, how I used to play catch in the front yard with my dad. Or how I would steal my brothers Legos and erect elaborate creations (I just wanted to use the word “erect” .)
But I’ll save those for other time.
Aw, thanks, Aaron. I dig you too!