My Kids are Becoming Adults

Now I’m not lamenting the fact I am old. That became a very well established little factoid in my life a while ago. For me it was some time around hearing 80’s music played on the “Oldies” station. For my wife it may have started when our son asked if she was a nurse during World War II. I’ve been acutely aware of my place on the age food chain since the day I discovered I was invisible to any female in her 20’s (or 30’s for that matter). It’s not so much that I necessarily want them fawning all over me; it would just be nice to have my existence acknowledged. Actually, the real epiphany on how old I am came when I realized that even if young women did notice me, I wouldn’t know what to do anymore.

No, my geezer status has been firmly established and accepted. This is about seeing my kids become unique individuals, transcending being more than mere byproducts of my wife and my combined genetics. It starts around the time they give you that first “could you be more out of it and still be breathing” look. For most kids this is the teen years, but for some (like my son Jude) it can happen as early as 4. This can be a bit off putting the first time it happens. I mean after all, I have all the answers as the parent. Kids aren’t supposed to be justified in their disobedience or (God forbid) be smarter than us.  Seriously, they aren’t. Unfortunately for my normally, indestructible ego, they often time are.

One of the great things about having as many kids as I do is that you see them at all developmental stages at the same time, and so can they. They can gang up on you, question what you know (or thought you knew) and teach you to see the world from a fresh perspective.  OK, when I put it that way, it doesn’t seem like such a plus. In fact, it actually sucks when it’s happening. The power of getting this perspective is that it’s just enough of your influence to get past your own defenses and just enough of them to blow your mind wide open. Like, totally man. (Wow, I just can’t stop dating myself.)

As far as landmark, maturity moments go, the day that I sat down and had a beer with my oldest in a bar when he turned 21 paled in comparison to the day that he was able to hold his own verbally in a room full of my most acerbically bitter peers, years earlier.  Not to mention, when I saw a quote from one of my literary idols: “Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything. – Kurt Vonnegut” and juxtapose that with what I heard my teenager say at the kitchen table one night: “Age is simply a chronological demarcation of how dead you are inside. – Sam Luby” it can give you pause.

Bottom line, I’m not fighting this anymore. I’m digging it and looking forward to more.