If you want a perspective shift while in the prime of your
life you have two choices. You can
enjoy a situation in which you stare Death in the face, which is something of a
gamble since you’re not guaranteed to survive long enough to enjoy your new
perspective. Or, you can watch a
slide presentation of the elderly people presently in your life, as they appeared
when they were your age. Last night I did the latter.
Watching the pictures of my husband’s side of the family when they were in their 20s, 30s, & 40s was fascinating. Here are men and women whom I’ve known for 20 years. They are all a minimum of 20 years my senior, and the majority of them are significantly more so. They haven’t exactly joined the ranks of Methuselah…okay well yes in all honesty most of them have been targeted by Wilford Brimley and the folks down at the AARP. Years from when all those pictures were taken, they are now bumping their heads on the age ceiling as they purchase burial plots in advance, program home-health medical supply stores into their speed dial, and place dibbies on their adult care facility of choice.
But back in the day of disco and burgundy leisure suits; back when men and boys paired knee high sports socks and short-shorts with impunity; back when Farrah Fawcett’s famous flip ruled salon chairs the world over…back then our aging parents and grandparents looked uncannily like us. They were caught in candid shots with young children hanging from their arms, posing on vacation at the Alamo, and snapped eating ice cream on a warmly familiar back porch. They lacked the tell-tail signs of the age they now wear proudly: no crow’s feet around the eyes from the years of laughter; no worry lines laddering up their brows thanks to raising teenagers, paying mortgages, & making weighty decisions they feared would define them for better or for worse; and no shorter stature born of decades carrying upon their shoulders the weight of their own worlds.
As the slides progressed I looked at my own children: my 8 yr old daughter laying on the floor repeatedly informing us she was bored, my 13 yr old son straining to recognize his late grandmother’s beloved face in the younger, plumper version of herself on the screen. I knew they would one day sit where I was and feel what I felt. One day (though certainly not last night) they will sit captivated by pictures of us and their aunts and uncles, and realize we were once young and we had our time as they will have theirs; realize we all share life in common with its joys and sorrows and day-to-day living that seems mundane, stressful, and comfortable all at once; realize this physical life ends for each of us, but family goes on. And family is the why behind it all.
Watching the pictures of my husband’s side of the family when they were in their 20s, 30s, & 40s was fascinating. Here are men and women whom I’ve known for 20 years. They are all a minimum of 20 years my senior, and the majority of them are significantly more so. They haven’t exactly joined the ranks of Methuselah…okay well yes in all honesty most of them have been targeted by Wilford Brimley and the folks down at the AARP. Years from when all those pictures were taken, they are now bumping their heads on the age ceiling as they purchase burial plots in advance, program home-health medical supply stores into their speed dial, and place dibbies on their adult care facility of choice.
But back in the day of disco and burgundy leisure suits; back when men and boys paired knee high sports socks and short-shorts with impunity; back when Farrah Fawcett’s famous flip ruled salon chairs the world over…back then our aging parents and grandparents looked uncannily like us. They were caught in candid shots with young children hanging from their arms, posing on vacation at the Alamo, and snapped eating ice cream on a warmly familiar back porch. They lacked the tell-tail signs of the age they now wear proudly: no crow’s feet around the eyes from the years of laughter; no worry lines laddering up their brows thanks to raising teenagers, paying mortgages, & making weighty decisions they feared would define them for better or for worse; and no shorter stature born of decades carrying upon their shoulders the weight of their own worlds.
As the slides progressed I looked at my own children: my 8 yr old daughter laying on the floor repeatedly informing us she was bored, my 13 yr old son straining to recognize his late grandmother’s beloved face in the younger, plumper version of herself on the screen. I knew they would one day sit where I was and feel what I felt. One day (though certainly not last night) they will sit captivated by pictures of us and their aunts and uncles, and realize we were once young and we had our time as they will have theirs; realize we all share life in common with its joys and sorrows and day-to-day living that seems mundane, stressful, and comfortable all at once; realize this physical life ends for each of us, but family goes on. And family is the why behind it all.
That's really beautiful! Thank you for sharing. I needed that today. :)
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