Growing Older

This year, my bride and I will be turning 35. I guess that’s why I’ve been thinking of my grandma lately. It’s because I’m getting “older.” I’ve reached the place where 7 year-olds think you’re old and the really smart ones tell you that you’re five times as old as they are. Most of them live on to reach age 8.

I just finished the last of the 7UP that I picked up for our youngest who was sick yesterday. 7UP and Lays potato chips were staples on the summer days when I would come over to Grandma’s. She’d put a serving tray with chips and a small glass of 7UP on the floor where I could watch TV and she sat on the couch. She lived on a street where nothing ever happened and it was a cinch to take a walk down to the park or even over to the cemetery to plant petunias on her parent’s grave.

I never realized that she had her own plot there until the summer after Grandpa died.

Grandma passed away several years ago, but a familiar sight, sound, or in this case, a taste brings me back to that place where the days were easy and the chores were light. We’d dig up planters and weed the lawn, mow, prune, bundle, sweep, whatever until she said we were done and then we’d go in for some 7UP and some chips. It was work, but I loved showing off to Grandma how strong I was and how I was able to do more than she thought.

My son likes to do that now. I see the same smile and twinkle in his eye that I had at his age. Could it be I’m halfway to seeing my own grandkids?

I’m a dad now, a grandpa-to-be (eventually). I will be old someday, Lord willing. By that time, I will have accumulated more nuggets of wisdom like, “Just because the package says that a compact fluorescent bulb will last 5 years, it doesn’t mean that half of them won’t short out a few months down the road.” I caught myself thinking that today and it struck me how old I sounded. It was an odd feeling knowing that I was starting to think thoughts like my grandparents used to.

On the other hand, Grandma is in heaven. She’s been through orientation and is now warmly greeting friends that she hasn’t seen in decades. She’s young inside and so glad to be there. How do I know? I just do. It’s a beautiful place to be who you were always meant to be. She’s home. I don’t look back and long for the days of my youth. They were happy memories, but just that. When I cross the finish line in heaven—and I hope I finish well—I just want to be there with my family and friends. I’m not looking back; I’m looking forward. And If I have to get old to do it, bring it on.