Yeah, you know how when you were a kid, there was this aunt who you only saw like once a year who always came up to you and all your siblings and cousins and had to hug you and kiss you on the cheek? And she wore bright red lipstick… Lots of red lipstick… Enough for everyone’s cheek – and there was a bunch of us. Like I said; LOTS of red lipstick – to go around. Yeah. Or maybe you had a grandpa who pinched your leg, just because he liked to pinch your leg. He wasn’t mean or anything, just goofing around – he was a bit of a coot. And that’s what he called us: coots. Of course, we eventually called him the coot – an old coot.
Spin forward a decade or two. As young to mid adults, we didn’t have to put up with the red lipstick or pinched legs anymore, but there was still that sense of “oh, yeah, the older generation; they have their quirks”. We just smiled, took in their wisdom when they shared, chuckled over their “quirks”, and never dreamed – or really understood – that we’d be them some day. Well… We tried NOT to dream about being them one day, since that would mean we’d be old and tiring out and on our last legs…
Spinning forward again, another decade or two. We’re attending a family function. There are numerous little ones running around, laughing and playing, and a splattering of teenagers and young adults (oh, crap – I think most of the young adults are now closing in on 40 or over!); there’s even one or two elderly people left in the family, and then there is us. Our generation. Eeeee. You suddenly realize you, your siblings and your cousins are “them” – the quirky, “old” (I have to put quotation marks – who wants to admit that we are almost old – okay, older) generation. I mentally flip over the past few years to make sure I didn’t kiss my numerous familial youngsters with red lipstick. Whew. Don’t think so. Pretty sure I haven’t pinched anyone’s leg either… So what have I done? I shudder to think. I have tortured a few with hugs… Said a few stupid jokes, like “they” did… I’m not sure I want to know, so I stop wondering about it and shut out the memories.
And yet another decade later, when I turned 60, there was a complete, rather hilarious, sense of denial in my brain. Like I didn’t have a choice – about the denial, not the turning 60. That was rather obvious. I went around for most of a year telling people that it was like trying to grab something in the air in front of me that wasn’t there. I would demonstrate it for them. Probably thought I was nuts, but I did get laughs every time I did it – even from younger people. Maybe that is my quirkiness…
My present generation has had to say farewell to the last generation, and we've replaced them and become the aunts and great aunts and uncles and great uncles and grandparents and older cousins who once gathered around us, watching our antics. After a moment though, that initial “eeeee” becomes a happy thought as I see that the joy we have now as we watch the younger generations having fun was their joy then. I remember the support and delight some of them brought me – and now I know I brought them. I hope that I am of that faction of our ancestors; the supportive, loving ones. Then again, maybe I should find a quirky mannerism, so the young generation will remember me. He, he, he, beware you younger generation – I’ve got red lipstick… Lots of red lipstick…
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