My group hug
Last week, on the train on my way home from a gift-buying-for-godson trip to Toys R Us, it suddenly hit me how only a few years ago I was somebody else's godchild. I was the one looking forward to presents from my godparents on my birthday and Christmas. How quickly I've crossed over. And then I thought, wait a minute, if I'm old, my parents are even older. Just then a terrifying thought came to me: My dad is 66 years old.
My parents married late. My mom was 35 and my dad was 43 when they had me. When I was in grade school I was jealous of my friends whose parents were in their 30s. By then my dad was 50 and retired. Their dads had nary a gray hair; mine could no longer read without his glasses. But I also noticed how the other, younger parents treated my dad with more respect; age has its virtues. In high school, a lot of my classmates had older parents, too. I spent less time at home because I lived in the dorm. More so in college, when I lived even farther away, and I no longer compared my parents with my friends' parents. During the times I was at home, my dad and I would talk about all sorts of things. I didn't feel the generation gap as much as I did when I was a kid.
There are always certain little reminders, though. My dad does not know how to go online. He takes forever to reply to text messages, and only two, three words at most. (In the Philippines, everyone sends text messages, and fast). Last year, he got his Senior Citizen's card. I remember back in high school, he was helping me out with my Physics problem set. Instead of breezing through my homework, it took me even longer to finish because my dad used a different system of measurement. When he was in college many many years ago, they used the English system (miles per second squared, acres, pounds), but the Philippines converted to the metric system decades ago. That explained the look of amusement on his face when he read my problem sets.
Back to me on the train thinking, in four years, he'll be 70. That to me has always been the age when one is considered to be, undeniably, old. I think at some point, everyone is terrified of the idea of their parents getting old. I haven't seen my dad in two years. Somehow, it's slipped my mind that in the two years that has passed, we've aged. I'm terrified.
{Both Sides Now, Joni Mitchell}
Last week, on the train on my way home from a gift-buying-for-godson trip to Toys R Us, it suddenly hit me how only a few years ago I was somebody else's godchild. I was the one looking forward to presents from my godparents on my birthday and Christmas. How quickly I've crossed over. And then I thought, wait a minute, if I'm old, my parents are even older. Just then a terrifying thought came to me: My dad is 66 years old.
My parents married late. My mom was 35 and my dad was 43 when they had me. When I was in grade school I was jealous of my friends whose parents were in their 30s. By then my dad was 50 and retired. Their dads had nary a gray hair; mine could no longer read without his glasses. But I also noticed how the other, younger parents treated my dad with more respect; age has its virtues. In high school, a lot of my classmates had older parents, too. I spent less time at home because I lived in the dorm. More so in college, when I lived even farther away, and I no longer compared my parents with my friends' parents. During the times I was at home, my dad and I would talk about all sorts of things. I didn't feel the generation gap as much as I did when I was a kid.
There are always certain little reminders, though. My dad does not know how to go online. He takes forever to reply to text messages, and only two, three words at most. (In the Philippines, everyone sends text messages, and fast). Last year, he got his Senior Citizen's card. I remember back in high school, he was helping me out with my Physics problem set. Instead of breezing through my homework, it took me even longer to finish because my dad used a different system of measurement. When he was in college many many years ago, they used the English system (miles per second squared, acres, pounds), but the Philippines converted to the metric system decades ago. That explained the look of amusement on his face when he read my problem sets.
Back to me on the train thinking, in four years, he'll be 70. That to me has always been the age when one is considered to be, undeniably, old. I think at some point, everyone is terrified of the idea of their parents getting old. I haven't seen my dad in two years. Somehow, it's slipped my mind that in the two years that has passed, we've aged. I'm terrified.
{Both Sides Now, Joni Mitchell}
