What brought this about is a text I received from my mom. I told her about the time I had at trivia with my roommates and some friends. We squeezed a large table into a small space, ate some deep friend food (mostly smothered in cheese), drank beer, and answered menial questions. It is pretty much the epitome of what being a 20 something is about. My mom responded that she had told my Dad she would like something like that, to go to a trivia night.
.....what?
That sounds so strange to me. Picturing my mom and dad in that bar, drinking that beer, eating that food, and answering those questions. But why is that so strange? They were once my age and they did those things. Furthermore, I'm sure that past doesn't feel as distant to them as it seems to me. (And I will just take this time to tell you that, by any standard, my mother was far cooler than me when she was younger. She had that ability to just exist and be wonderful. In it's place, I have been filled with awkwardness of unknown origin. I mean come on. The woman majored in photography, moved to California after graduation, got an apartment on the beach, and opened a store to sell jewelry she made. This all in addition to the fact that she had a fairly bangin' body. Just, come on.)
There was a time somewhere between puberty and college graduation where this all dawned on me. I began to see my parents as human beings who once had lives of their own, completely separate from each other, in which I was not even a thought. Then they met, got married, had my brother then me and began directing all of their energies toward making sure we grew up well (or as well as is possible...but that is a different post). The not-so-immediately-realized aspect of this moment of clarity is as follows: as our parents, they still have the desire to do the same things as when they were younger and most of those desires similar to our own. Go out, drink, have...relations...and whatever other things we are young enough to get away with. Have fun.
And when I realized all of this, when the weight of how my life had affected not only one but two people so permanently, I felt terrible. I felt guilty for every time I yelled at them, every hug I denied my mother, every gift they gave me, everything. Because they are people. And how would I feel if I devoted my life to somebody and they had the nerve to slam their bedroom door in my face, refuse to wash the dishes, and throw their many possession (that I had purchased for them) all over the house I had just cleaned? I don't even like it when my roommates use my expensive knife wrong! Yet somehow, I still cannot appreciate my mother and father enough. I don't return phone calls, I don't visit often enough, and I continue to take all they offer me...but god forbid my mother ask me to rub her feet. Yikes. I am a terrible person. But in this sense, aren't we all?
So how does one handle the transition from being the fun, young person into birthing and nurturing that fun, young person until they slowly slip away from you into their own life? I don't know. And I absolutely do not want to find out yet.
