My son and I were
up late one night shmoozing. It isn’t often we get to spend time talking about
deep and meaningful subjects. I would have stayed up even longer if my drooping
eyelids would have agreed.
We spoke softly
because of the lateness of the hour, and my son, who is usually running from
one thing to the next, sat across from me talking quietly or listening
intently, causing my love for him to overflow as I gazed into his warm eyes
while adoring his trademark smile.
Our conversation
was interspersed with laughter. My son wears many different smiles. “Why are
you wearing gloves?” he asked with a grin which I’ve come to recognize as akin
to an eye rolling action. It means, “What weird thing are you doing now,
Mommy?” or more pointedly, “Boy, are you old!” I then explained to my son about
the joys of growing older and the many tasks that go along with it, like the
need to slather my fingers with lanolin and then covering them with thin white
gloves before retiring for the night.
My son’s smile
showed me that he needed more convincing. In fact, I spent some of our precious
time together explaining my daily maintenance schedule, with a grin of my own.
I told him, as I have many times before, that one day he will have a
maintenance routine like mine. This time he laughed out loud in disbelief. I
shared with him that he would one day tell these same words to his own son, and
his son would give him that “eye roll” smile, just like that boy’s father was
doing to me right now.
My son couldn’t
imagine those things ever happening to him. But worse yet, I thought, who will
tell him when he reaches my age that he used to think the way he did when he
was younger? I just know he won’t believe it. It doesn’t seem fair that he
should get away with it. By the time my son nears senior citizenhood, he won’t
be running around so much or so fast. Nor will he be able to sleep through a
thunderstorm or eat massive quantities of everything he sees. Not only that,
but by then I certainly won’t remember to tell him about those long-ago days
when he thought he would stay young forever.
I came up with a
brilliant idea. I told my son that I should write down the things I do daily for
my self-preservation regimen and note in this little journal the conversations
between us where he insisted that he wouldn’t need such ridiculous rituals
himself. Maybe by reading the entries in succession, his annoying and
disbelieving smile would finally go away, and he would realize that people over
the age of 55 aren’t dotty old things; they are just older. But realistically,
my son won’t notice these things until he’s forced to make changes in his own
daily routine.
I guess I did my
share of eye rolling too when I was my son’s age. I never understood how older
people would want to drive so slowly or listen to quiet background music. My
daily ritual consisted of taking a shower and brushing my teeth. I never took a
pill unless it was an aspirin, never used lotion unless I was sitting in the hot
sun by a swimming pool – and why did my mother insist that we read with a light
on?
As I grew older, I
remember wondering how my parents had so much time on their hands but still
claimed to be so busy. My son sounds exactly how I did. It’s inconceivable to
him that I keep myself occupied all day long. He wonders what I could possibly
be doing day after day in the very same way I questioned my own parents.
We have enough to
keep ourselves busy. There are household chores to attend to, grocery shopping
to do, appointments to keep, and errands to run. Our calendars include more
time for learning and engaging in pleasurable activities. Our schedules don’t
include the stress and pressure they once did and that our children still
maintain. We can choose what we want to do and the pace at which we want to do
it. That seemingly small difference is really quite large indeed. It is the
pivotal point that causes a lack of understanding between parents and children.
It’s hard for them to imagine what their busy lives would be like if they were
to slow down. To our children, an enjoyable life can only be measured by how
quickly they accomplish their goals. They don’t realize that one day their
yardstick will be replaced by a completely different measuring tool.
The new life that
is to be found at this stage is calming, peaceful, and joyous. And it often
brings a deep and lasting smile to those of us who are fortunate enough to be
able to partake in it.
Zahava Hochberg
is a weekly columnist for the Monsey
Mevaser newspaper. She has created two columns for the paper and is
regularly featured in the, the Where What When. Zahava can be reached at
zahava.hochberg17@gmail.com.
