I work part-time with college students, mostly freshmen, who subconsciously have made it their goal in life to make me feel like an old hag. I mean, they’re all young and vibrant and happy and think college is the hardest thing they’ll ever do in their life, and I’m the old loser who’s like, ENJOY IT WHILE YOU CAN. IT ALL COMES CRASHING DOWN AS SOON AS YOU GET A DIPLOMA. In other words, that person I always detested when I was their age. Super.
So a few days ago, we were talking about movies while my students were CLEARLY studying for their first round of exams, and we got on the subject of horror movies, which I told them I can’t handle due to watching Scream at my friend Christina’s house when I was in 7th grade, and I tried to act all cool while we watched it, but I really wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.
I was in the middle of a lecture about how Scream was different from horror movies before that time and how it seemed to be revolutionary blahblahblah when one of my students was like, “But aren’t those comedy movies?” And it took me a few seconds to realize the only thing these kids know about Scream is from the Scary Movie franchise, which of course I’ve never seen but assume are all dumb because I’m old and boring, right?
Anyway, I started to explain the difference but realized it was useless and I was losing cool points, so I removed myself from the conversation, and they moved on to talking about Justin Beiber’s new stuff while I stared at the wrinkles on my hands.
Will it be yes or will it be sorry?
I’m really not one of those 30-somethings who freaks out because she’s getting old. I honestly think age is just a number, and it’s all about how you feel and how well you take care of yourself that determines your mindset regarding that number. But sometimes it’s a little disheartening to see Texas A&M Class of 2020 t-shirts popping up in the stores at the mall. That’s all I’m saying.
Speaking of wrinkles, a couple of weeks ago, my son’s class celebrated the 100th day of school with all sorts of 100-related activities. If you have school-age kids, you know the drill: they have to take 100 somethings to school so the somethings can be counted, graphed, etc. So I dug around the stack of crap on top of the fridge and found the dusty sheets of Minions stickers we bought for some other school thing a few months back, cut out 100, and sent them to school. Mom for the win.
Anyway, one of the more disturbing things my son brought home from the 100th day of school was this picture.
I mean, if that’s what he really looks like in 95 years, he’s golden, but I just wasn’t expecting that when I went through his daily folder. BUT it made me thankful because I may have the rikls, but at least I don’t have white haer. Yet.
I’m 3 years older, so I feel similarly. I’ve never really worried about my age, but here is a panicked text I sent Meghan a few months ago when I was observing the ravages of time on my poor visage:
Sooner or later, age gets us all.