Old People

In my "Too Much Time Together" post, I didn't give enough credit to the old people. Granted, they are cranky and old, and yell a lot, and sometimes smell, and could be nicer, but I often forget:


They were babies once: they cried and needed food and their diapers changed, completely dependent on the people that brought them into the world.


They were toddlers once: Getting their teeth, learning to walk and talk and not make messes in their pants


They were children once: Running and playing, skinning knees and getting kisses from their mothers. They ate candy and climbed fences, rode bikes and slept under the stars, went to school and found out new things about life.


They were teens once: Getting yelled at by their parents, getting crushes and boyfriends and girlfriends and rejections and zits and hair in weird places and having their voices crack. They stayed up late and Toilet-papered houses, made new friends, felt depressed sometimes, inspired other times, and yelled at their parents.


They were in their 20's once: Feeling lost, moving out of the house, going to college, road tripping, getting jobs, falling in love and getting married; defining the kind of person that they were going to be for the rest of their lives.


They were parents once: waking up to crying babies in the night, changing diapers and feeding them, helping their children walk and talk and taking them to school. They yelled at their kids, and got yelled at by their kids, loved their kids and helped to shape the kind of people their kids would be. They fought with their spouses about how the children should be raised, and how finances should be managed, and still managed to stick together and find love through it all. They watched their kids move out, and go to college and have children of their own.


And as their own children's children grew up, suddenly they felt more isolated; left by the ones that they sacrificed so much for. As their bodies failed more and more, their knees and backs gave, their lungs weakened, they are less mobile, unable to even take care of themselves. They sit, unable to be the person that they were earlier in their life. They sit with nothing but their memories and an inability to even take care of themselves.


They are helpless.


They are alone.


I can see why they are bitter.


I was a baby once, crying and needing food, having my diapers changed, completely dependent on my parents. I was a toddler once, getting my teeth and learning to walk and talk and yes, not make a mess in my pants. I was a child once, running and playing and skinning my knees and getting kisses from my mother. Eating candy and climbing fences, riding bikes and sleeping under the stars; going to school and learning more about life. I was a teen once, getting yelled at by my parents, getting crushes and rejections and zits and hair in weird places and having my voice crack; toilet-papering houses, making new friends, feeling depressed sometimes, inspired other times, and yelling at my parents.


I have so many more memories I could put, but it would go on for hours and hours. So many important things and so many mundane things that are still important to me. I couldn't fit all my childhood, and teenage, and young adult memories on to this page, nor even remember them all at one go. I would start, and then remember more and more and more, and then finally forget the things that I had remembered to remember at the beginning because there is so much to remember. I might go crazy if I tried to remember my whole life at once. As I look back, the things I cared about so much as a child are meaningless, and the trials I faced then are so easy now. All the small things that I don't even think about on a daily basis are amazing, and I do miss them. They helped me to figure out who I am now.

And so, I go to college, and sometimes feel lost, and go on road trips, and have jobs, and am moving out, but there is so much more ahead of me. Unfathomable things. And ordinary things. Things I have to do, and things I want to do. Things I am dreading doing and things that are part of living a normal life.

When I get to the end of my life, I just hope that someone is still around who understands me. Someone who knows that I didn't used to only be a stinky smelly, crazy old man. Perhaps that person will keep me sane and I won't turn into the kind of old person that I see around me all the time.

I don't want to be helpless, bitter, or alone.

I want to be different.