Remember when you
couldn’t wait to be 18? It was a magic age, the age when you finally really controlled your destiny. 18 seemed a lifetime away when you were 16. The weeks
were long, the seasons longer, but you stayed focused on that magic number. It
would be your Independence Day.
Ironically, if you
asked your mother, your real Independence Day was the day you took your first
step, when you were no longer reliant on her for everything. If you asked your
dad about it, he would probably grunt, roll his eyes, and mumble something
about it being the day you die. In his eyes, while you might feel independent,
he will still be determined to be your protector, your defacto head of state,
regardless of how strictly ceremonial you think that role might be.
For some of us, 21 was
the Holy Grail, the year we were able to drink (legally). It might be
interesting to know exactly how many waited until that twenty-first year to
taste their first drop of liquor... but I digress. For others, 25 was the key,
because, as they grew older and became more responsible, they realized that at
this age, their insurance rates dropped back to something finally within the
stratosphere. Sorry, but after that, it all seems to go downhill. There is no
longer any desire to age faster.
Buried deep within
this realization must be some profound lesson, some quaint, witty cliché that
will bring a smile to all our faces. There might be, but I have no idea what they might be. Time moves forward; we were blessed with photographs and memories and faint
smells that can take us back to that time, but we can’t relive it, and perhaps
that’s a good thing.
I thought back to when
I was 16. I was at Samuel Crowther High School in Strathmore, Alberta – what we
affectionately called Sam Crow Pen. I don’t believe the school is there
anymore, or perhaps it has been reborn under another banner, but that really
doesn’t matter. I am not sure I could bring myself to walk through those doors
again. High school was tough. We spent those years discovering ourselves,
testing our limits (and perhaps our parents’ limits even more), picking away at
the matrix in that quest to discover what gem was hidden inside. We rebelled,
we argued, we commenced that life-long battle between principle and
popularity, praying that maybe there was a balance between the two. Every day
was a balancing act. Every day there were tests, some written, some just lived,
not all of them passed.
In my old age, I
cannot imagine what it is like now. I never had to worry about having the most
modern communications devices on the planet. We had telephone party lines – the
no-frills precursor to conference calling, and to be honest, there were a lot
of times, that was just a pain in the butt, because there was really no
privacy. How would we manage now, though, with everyone having a camera on
their phones, their phones in their pockets? Privacy? I can’t imagine how that
happens anymore. We didn’t have the clothes issues, the shoes issues, the
hair issues... there were fewer templates for us to want to emulate. Careers
were for life, not something we had to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for, only to
have to ‘retrain’ ten years later. Yes, we had drugs in our schools, but it’s
nothing compared to what they deal with now. There were more two-parent homes
in our day (although probably just as many dysfunctional ones, if we were all
being honest, so perhaps that isn't a better thing, but it was a different thing). We had more nutritious meals, less ‘clutter’ from televisions, no
computers to consume our time, and not once did we have to worry about some
crazed gunman coming into the building, determined to cut down as many lives as
possible in the short time he had.
We can’t go back, but
we have the absolute beauty of being able to cherry-pick what we want to
remember. We can remember the faces, the laughs, the loves, the triumphs, and
hopefully the lessons. All of it was right for us at the time we were doing it.
We would be disasters if we had to go back to 16 now. We have made those rites
of passage that come after high school – the marriages, births, divorces... the
success stories and those that break our hearts. From high school, we remember the first of ‘our
year’ to leave us – still miss you, Moose, and think of you often – and the
most special to each of us who is no longer here – Godspeed, Tracey; you’re singing with the angels now. From our lives, we welcome more babies -- nieces, nephews, grandkids -- and we say goodbye to parents and partners.
We always need things
to look forward to. When we were 12, it was 14, when we would get our learners
licence. When we were 14, it was 16, when we could get our real licence and
start to wear make-up. When we were 16, it was 18, when we would be legal and
free. Now, it’s Tuesday, because that’s when there is a senior’s discount at
Safeway, or it’s in three months when we will be leaving on holidays, or the
summer because we will be welcoming a new member into the family fold. Our age
doesn’t matter in the need for hope for the future -- our own and globally. We know
that with the drivers licence, comes more responsibility and the need for gas
money. We know Independence Day comes with a dramatically new set of priorities
and demands.
Do I want to be 16
again? No, not really. I know what comes after that, the good and the bad, the
wondrous and the heartbreaking. I don’t think I am brave enough or strong
enough to be 14 again. I would rather reminisce, perhaps wax poetic about it,
and look forward to what tomorrow holds for me. We should all be excited for
tomorrow to come, because, like cheese and wine, we are more flavorful and valuable (and get better looking) every day.