I turned 34 this year. Still young, many might say. It’s the oldest I’ve ever been, so it doesn’t always feel that way. I’ve noticed – many rites of passage and milestones traditionally associated with age don’t bother me. Hair shmair! It was great when I had it, now I don’t. Who cares? turning 30 was great for me. I got married that year and learned how to ride a motorcycle. I abandoned a svelte physique in my 20s, and like we all do, I guess I have the standard hang-ups about my new-found corpulence, but on the whole it doesn’t bother me now that my wardrobe has turned over a time or two.
It didn’t even phase me when, a few years ago, my brother, Paul (an optometrist by trade) recommended I get reading glasses. I bought a pair, and every now and again, I’d wear them to prevent eye strain at the end of the day.
Today however, just moments ago, I had one of those thoughts that just makes you feel old. It was the first time this thought had occured to me ever. The thought was “Where did I put my glasses?”
See, when I first got the glasses, it was because Paul said it might help. I didn’t need them. Lately, I have been using them more and more, and have found they improve my vision.
Today, when I was looking around, holding a piece of paper with fine type I wanted to read, thinking “Where did I put my glasses”, well, I felt old. I realized that this was the first time for this thought, and that it would likely be the first of many, many occaisions for it to run through my brain, and there is no going back.
There must’ve been a first time I thought “Where are my keys?”. There must have been a first time I thought “I am going to be late for work!”. Well, today was the first for “Where did I put my glasses?”.
Funny how these little details that forge our identities affect us differently. Having glasses? No problem for me. Wanting them and not knowing where they are? That’s another story.
In March, My brother Paul and sister-in-law, Gina, became the proud parents of a beautiful baby girl, Sophia. With her birth, the family titles changed. Paul and Gina were upgraded from sibling, son and daughter to mom and dad. I went from brother to uncle, my parents to grandparents, and my grandmother became a great-grandmother (not that she wasn’t already great!). When asked about how she felt about being a great-grandmother, she said (roughly), “well, I certainly do feel like a great-grandmother and I am happy for that, but what I just can’t believe is that I am the mother of a grandfather.”
She paused and looked me in the eye, “I love being a great-grandmother, but you know you are old when your son is a grandfather!”