“Children have one kind of silliness, as you know, and grown-ups have another kind.”
– C.S. Lewis
J. and I both had, “Oh dear, we’re grown up…” moments last night.
J.’s experience was in a grocery store where he heard two girls talking about graduating, and they looked so young! “There are full grown adults,” he said, with some resignation in his voice, “who are younger than us.”
This is a pretty surprising thing, to be honest. Working at a university, living in a university town, it gets a bit easy to smugly lump the majority of the residence together as “those helpless little darlings,” that you tend to see the most of – freshmen and sophmores who generally haven’t a clue. But we’ve lived here long enough post my graduation that entire class of students has cycled through their four year degrees and scampered off to greater things. To many of them, we are their Five Year Plan personified – there’s horror for you.
My clash with age was at my zumba class where for fun the instructor taught us the routine to Michael Jackson’s Thriller, which I thought was great fun for the upcoming holiday spirit. Walking out of the gym, I overheard two girls talking to one another.
“I liked it except for that weird monster dance we did.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t even a good song.”
Cue C. clutching herself in horror.
The decade I was born in is now something to be trotted out in fashion or for parties, usually “ironically.” I lived before the internet – something we’re only a couple of freshman classes away from being ancient history. I lived during the bleeding Cold War, when the Soviet Union was a country, Europe was split down the middle, and communism was still a threat, instead of a largely pejorative term to be hurled at anyone who disagrees with you socially. And these people have no idea who Michael Jackson was except for the last few, collapsing years of his life! What gives!
J.’s less than a month away from 27, which somehow seems unnervingly closer to 30 than 26 for some reason, and he’s only seven months older than me. We’re the grown ups.
4 thoughts on “Who’s In Charge Here?”
In the middle of that messy success knot ourselves right now. . ..
My “adulthood” hit me when my younger siblings came over one day and we made cookies with my electric hand mixer. They actually fought over who got to use it. My parents have had a KitchenAide for years.
You’re breaking my heart.