For a long time, when I was little, I was convinced that my parents were 35 years old. No matter how many years went by, they were always, in my mind, fixed at that "magic" age. Now I'm actually coming up on that number myself. And my parents sent me a card this year that said (tongue-in-cheek, of course): "No more birthdays after this, understand? ... We're too young to have a son your age!"
And, in the past 3--4 years, I've been noticing my mum becoming, in her mannerisms, a lot like the way I remember my grandmother --- her mum --- used to be. And my dad like his dad, my Grandpa. And just the other day I realized with a start that my handwriting, spidery to begin with, had begun to look just like the nearly indecipherable scrawl that we used to always tease my dad about.
It's kinda fascinating, but also a wee bit jarring.
6 comments:
Hmm, just realized: there're a lot of "and"s in that post.
Oh well.
that is so depressing. i just lost some happiness.
Well, it is great to read this exactly 2 wks before my birthday. For the majority, at the "appropriate" age, starts to do things what their parents used to do, it is considered as "normal". For others, like me, who refuses to follow the "normal" path, are considered "weirdoes". You know how people treat weirdoes: they burn them.
Rats: Why do you find it depressing?
J: It's always the nail that sticks out that gets hammered. Being different is never easy. But sometimes, whatever your reason, you just gotta do what you gotta do. "To thine own self be true," eh?
:-) This post made me smile and also sigh a bit. Ditto you all through.
:) Thanks, ideasmith.
Post a Comment