In January at
our house on the first day of the month, we take down the Christmas flag out
front and fly the Happy Birthday flag.
That’s because 50% of our household celebrates a birthday this month.
Just before he
turned two John was chatting with a woman at the library and said he was having
a birthday the next week. She
said, “ Oh, how old will you be?”
He quickly
replied, “Seven.” Even though he’s
always seemed mature for his age, it’s still hard to believe he will be a
teenager this month.
It’s a milestone
I remember approaching myself very vividly all those years ago. I couldn’t wait
to be a teenager. It is when I
started getting “Seventeen” magazine at the grocery store, when the songs all
started to make sense, when I gave up glasses for contacts and when everything
seemed possible. Now, it seems
impossible it could be happening to him.
But at the same
time, I face the impossible reality that I also celebrate a milestone birthday
this month. Frankly, I have staged
quite a war in my head over how to best handle the situation. Part of me would very much like it to
pass without notice and to simply pretend it’s not happening, to hide it
quietly from the world.
Unfortunately, the other part of me, the Mom who has to answer to two
inquiring minds who will want to know why it’s OK for me to lie, knows it’s
probably better to just act as though it doesn’t bother me at all and simply
walk right past it like it’s just any other day. So I’m hoping confession is indeed good for the soul and will
be taking the honest route and embracing the day with open arms. But in a nod to vanity the actual
number shall remain unmentionable.
It’s interesting
really how everything seems to appear in just a little different light in the second
half century. When I was turning
13 I knew I was invincible and it was a great big world ready to be conquered. I was ready for my first car and hoped
it would have FM radio. I couldn’t
wait to check off my list of things I dreamed of doing. I feared only acne and such social
embarrassments as being the tallest one in school. But failure wasn’t one of them.
Now, I know that
mortality is to be respected and I wish I could figure out how to make a
child’s teenage brain heed the caution I so desperately want it to
recognize. I now see the world as
threatening, a bully waiting to pounce on someone so young and naïve to dare to
think anything is possible. The joy of driving my sensible and economical
crossover vehicle is tainted by the challenge of actually seeing since my
bifocal contacts don’t seem to bring either near or far items into full focus. My dreams strayed long ago from career
ladders to just making sure we don’t fall off of one; hoping for good health,
to avoid any of the disasters we are insured against, and to somehow save
enough to retire at least from a fulltime job. I fear the effects of gravity and sun and worry about such
social embarrassment as using the senior discount at the grocery store. Acne cream has become wrinkle cream. My memory fails me every day.
And so as we
blow out our birthday candles this year we will enjoy different levels of
enthusiasm for our milestones, my son and I. He will be thrilled and proud. I will be less so. But my hope is that the energy emanating
from my new teenager will somehow radiate to his parents and to give us the insight
we need to be hip while managing not to break one, to be cool even through hot
flashes, to understand even when the language changes, to laugh because life
doesn’t have to be so serious, and to remember the bright spark of light that
is your youth, even though your too young to appreciate it until your 50.
