I guess I’ve reached THAT age.
“I just HAVE to introduce you to my mother. The two of you would have so much in common.”
I never thought I’d live long enough to hear those words. Let’s be honest. I never thought I’d hear those words, ever. Yet, there they are, laying between us. Clumps of sounds that tell the story of two life times, two women who’ve reached an age of commonality, at least according to one of their children, accompanied by the death knell of a bell.
When I was 12, people thought I was twenty. When I was twenty, people thought I was forty. When I was forty, most people thought I was thirty. At fifty, they think I’m forty. I was living older than myself, now I’m younger than my self. I’m messing around with the space time continuum, but hearing someone tell me I have so much in common with their mother, I wonder how old the mother is, and when did I reach an age when I would have something in common with them?
I guess it’s today.
Today I am old enough to be friends with someone’s mother. What the hell does that mean?
Does it mean I’m old? Old is often defined by the individual’s age perspective. If the person is 12 and their mother is in her twenties, I should feel complemented. If the person is sixty, and their mother is eighty, I feel insulted.
Or should I? Maybe it isn’t about age. Maybe it’s about knowledge, a shared experience and expertise?
Nah. I’ve reached the age that others consider me mother material. I’ve reached a number that connects me with the mothers around the world, a uniting bond. Mother’s unite!
Let’s hope I don’t hear the words, “I’d really like to introduce you to my great-grandmother. You’d have so much in common.”
Not sure my ego could handle that one.
Then again, at that age, I probably wouldn’t care.