To Be Young Again

Not budging from being 27 years old.

I’m not.

Just saying. It’s where my mindset it stuck.

Had the pleasure of seeing my 19 year-old son and his girlfriend tonight. They’re in dilemmas. The nagging question looms.

“What am I going to do with my life?”
In typical project management style I started to rattle off options. Complete with prerequisites and end results.

The path they choose today, could affect the rest of their lives.

So many choices. The root of it all. To make money.

Education factors in on the drawing board for some directions. Yet career options tangle with motivation and commitment.

Is it truly what the heart desires?
I took myself back to their age. I wanted to have my name in lights. Thought I could be a dancer. Dreamt of being on-stage. Actually took dance classes through till my first couple years living in the big smoke – Toronto.

The more realistic notion was being a stock broker. But I couldn’t get a job without the course. Not even as a secretary.

My life evolved. To be honest I’m still searching. Suppose that’s what we do in life.

So I reiterate my logic to them.

“It’s better to be doing something, then nothing at all. Because something will eventually lead to something else.”

Just saying.

Oh, to be young again!

Growin’ Up Now

Was different back them. So she claims. Didn’t have to worry about walking alone at night. No fear. It was simply a case of being. No worries.

I contemplate what she’s said. So much is true. My grandmother is pushing 95 years old. It happens that she was home today. On my chilly roll home from my road riding hill climbing day I decide to pop in for tea.

There’s always something to talk about. Memories. The good old days.

Nana brings up the murder not long ago by two young boys. They killed a young teenage girl. Minutes from where she lives.

We all have to scratch our heads on that one. Why? What makes a person so young commit such cruelty?

Then she sits back; deep in her wing back and claims life is like this. But it wasn’t that way when she was growing up.

“I grew up in the best times,” she says.

She remembers her days in Vancouver and walking around Stanley Park, even at night.

“You wouldn’t do that now,” she adds shaking her head.

True. Because of fear. Because of the known. Because of what’s been.

We live in different times. Shaded by horrors of the past. Not war. But murders, rapes and robberies.

Two cups of tea and some homemade cabbage rolls later, I push for a positive note to end the visit on.

We talk about my brother’s children. Her grandchildren. The accomplishments of the others.

Growing up a different world to what hers was.

Growing up in the new now. 

Future Free

Since my son was old enough to understand, I told him if he started smoking I’d kill him. As he grew up whenever I said that he got a little cocky and declared, “That’s child abuse you can’t do that.”
All joking aside, I wanted to instill in him smoking is not on. Now that he’s 18 years-old I’ve given him another threat.
“If you get caught abusing alcohol I’m putting you in the army.”
To which he replied, “Ryley wants to join the military and wants me to join with him.”
Humph I think to myself. That didn’t quite get the response I thought it might.
I am one for setting boundaries. For sure. Loosely. I’m also one, as a mother for cutting the strings as early as possible and placing one said boomerang in one child’s head. Get out there. Get going. Don’t catch your shirt tail on the door on the way out.
When said son claims boredom I think to myself, what do you expect you live in Victoria (British Columbia, Canada)? No disrespect. I was born here. I also left here in my teens. First for Europe. Later for Toronto, then Vancouver.
When number one says “I’ve gotta get out of here before I loose my mind!” my heart sings. Hallelujah – you’ve got it dialed. Time now to find your future. Run boy, run. Don’t hide. Go. Go anywhere. Go now!

All Told

Children grow up being told what to do. They spend their days at school being taught this and that. If they’re involved in sports they’re being coached. When they go home they’re being guided, by their parents. All said and done their days are spent being told what to do with their lives.
Where’s the kid time in today’s society? The play time? It generally comes with a parent there watching, telling them what not to do. Warning them what could happen. Suggesting consequences with damage control for preventative injuries. Quite honestly, I think it’s pathetic. Let them be!
I loved my childhood evenings. “Go outside and play,” me and my brothers were told. My parents enjoyed quiet time with their candle light dinners and cocktails. There was no supervision. Occasionally someone would come home with an injury. For the most part, when we were in the neighbourhood we hung out and took care of each other. We played tag, kick the can, hide-and-seek. Whatever.
Mum would stand on the front porch and ring a cow bell when it was time to come in, usually around dusk. Do we give our children today this kind of opportunity?
At the bike park the other day I’m watching kids ride and parents are hanging around talking. Looking on. Chirping, “Don’t do that,” and “Be careful if you do that you could fall.”
One poor soul winded himself falling off his bike. Some other mum went into high gear and called the boy’s parents even while he was pleading he was fine. Why not let them be?
I had to leave shaking my head. What kind of world are we going to have when our children grow up with every minute of their day being told what to do? How will they ever learn to think for themselves?