I turn 46 this week, yet I'm still waiting to feel middle-aged.
Well, that's not entirely true. I only recently learned who Drake is, which flummoxed my children and made me feel a little old. In my defense, neither NPR nor my one go-to satellite radio station plays much rap.
And this week, one of my sixth-graders was seeking clarification on life during the Civil War, innocently implying that I would be a good primary source. I gasped and reminded her that the war was fought from 1861 to 1865.
"Oh! That's right," she said. "I meant, can you tell me about World War I?"
Again, no.
At last she remembered that I could tell her about living during the Cold War — and only part of it, I might add.
In the last two decades of the 20th century, my grandparents lived in a cozy house in a tiny community on Belton Lake in Central Texas. Across the lake lies the massive Fort Hood. There were days in the early 1980s when the air would boom and the ground would rumble, reminders of the artillery practice taking place nearby.
"Reagan's mad at the (bleep) Russians again," Grandpa would mutter on days when the reverberations didn't stop.
My students also like to hear about life before cellphones and the Internet, when research projects required the use of a card catalog, stacks of reference books and access to a microfiche reader. That also meant hours at the public library, where friends gathered most every day for homework, group projects and good-natured foolishness.
When it was time to go home, we needed a quarter to use the pay phone to call home. You hoped there would be no busy signal.
They are fascinated by the idea of television shows that had to be watched right that moment — or else you'd have to wait for a rerun. They struggle to imagine that people were forced to view movies on someone else's schedule, not on demand.
They are confused by a time in which anyone could walk to airport gates to say goodbye or to greet family members and friends as they walked off an airplane.
I'm happy to share my age and stories with my students, even when they confuse the 19th century with the 20th. I've learned that the gift of a new year can't be taken for granted, and I'm thankful for the experiences — positive and negative — that I've piled up since 1972.
After surviving so many loved ones, I've learned to never complain about a birthday, a day that isn't promised to any of us. I've gained perspective on what's a true crisis, what's worth grumbling over and what we can let go. (Most of it we can let go.) I've tried to more often share appreciation for acts of kindness and more freely say, "I love you."
Though I'm thankful for technological advances in my lifetime and the immediacy and convenience they offer, I'm even more grateful for enduring friendships, wisdom found in classic literature and the universal benevolence of people, no matter the time period. Yet I'm eagerly awaiting the next waves of innovation, excited to see how younger generations affect change.
Perhaps that's what defines my middle-agedness — straddling two centuries, looking back and looking forward while aiming to enjoy today.
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| Just a few days shy of 46 |
Or, in the words of Drake, "I'm living life right now ... this what I'mma do till it's over."
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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