Twelve-year old walks into a bar. Bartender asks for her ID, looks at it, then says, “What’ll ya have?” Twelve-year old says, “Really? I’m only twelve.”
Twelve-year old’s father shuffles up to the bar, bartender says, “Ah, now I know why you feel twelve today.”
The joke is pretty lame, and if you laughed, I’ll admit I wrote it. Even as a bona fide grown up, in certain situations, I often feel like I’m still a child. My own father was out and about many years ago with my husband. They happened upon my grandfather and my dad jumped out of the car to speak with his father. When he came back to the car, he said to my husband, “No matter how old I get, I always feel like I’m a kid around him.”
Four or five years ago my own family and I visited a parish I attended up until I started fifth grade. The priest who currently resided there actually ran the church where I grew up from about 11 to 18. I walked into the office and became hopelessly tongue tied in his presence. I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember his name, though I knew I knew him. He claimed not to remember me, then suddenly he growled, “You’re that darned kid who threw the newspaper at my screen every morning.” (It was indeed me, though I didn’t do it on purpose). He was a gruff man in my youth and he had obviously remained so. My 12-year-old self timidly asked him if he’d like to meet my husband and children, who had waited in the car. Part of my New Year’s resolutions, or goals (I can’t even remember what I decided to declare them this year) is to crawl out of my writing cave and find some people to help me move my career along. If nothing else, I needed to find others who shared my same interests.
I am the proud flunkee of several writing groups/organizations because I have issues with other people’s drama. So yesterday, I took the bold action to join a group who proclaim their mission is to help each other finish projects. That sure sounded like me, so I clicked “join”. First I dealt with the weather issue; it was rather windy and rainy that day. Perhaps it was too stormy to venture out? I went to church first to test the waters (or wind as the case was). I made it back home in one piece, so I decided to take the plunge and go to the meet up. I was pretty nervous as I drove to the location, not sure what I signed up for, not sure I would be welcome, even though I was allowed to freely join (they’ll let anybody in). When I pulled into the parking lot, I felt like a child walking into a bar. Then I thought to myself, “You’re 52 years old. You can walk into this meeting as a real adult. You don’t even have to fake it.”
So I did; went in like I owned the place (not quite that boldly). It turned out to be a fantastic group of shared ideas, no drama or judgement. It’s just what the writer ordered. As I was telling my older sister the story over the phone, she said, “That’s was being in your 50s is about.” I said to her, “It was more than that, I just realized I was in my 50s.” I am a grown-up, I am!
Gretchen Leigh is a stay-at-home mom who lives in Covington. You can read more of her writing and her blog on her websitelivingwithgleigh.com, on Facebook at “Living with Gleigh.”or follow her on Twitter @livewithgleigh. Her column is available every week atmaplevalleyreporter.com under the Life section.
