Birthdays provide convenient markers of progress and changes in life. A few reflections on the eve of leaving middle age.
At 10, kindly adults would enter conversations with me by asking, “What are you going to be when you grow up?”
At 60, folks wonder, “When are you going to retire?”
At 16, my parents had to ride with me when I drove.
At 60, my family offers to drive for me.
At 20, I wanted to have a dozen kids.
At 30, I had half that and said enough.
At 60, I am happy to have more than that many grandchildren.
At 10, my grandparents were so old.
At 60, my middle-aged sons are so young.
At 20, I really liked our fixer-upper first house.
At 60, just looking at a fixer-upper leaves me shuddering.
Before I turned 10, I proudly anticipated the decade.
Before I turned 60, I dreaded the decade and reminded myself frequently of its advent.
At 20, friends wondered how many children my husband and I wanted to have.
At 30, they wondered when we would quit having children.
At 50, they were surprised that I had grandchildren!
At 60, they are astounded that we have so many grandchildren.
At 20, I dropped out of college to marry.
At 30, I wanted to return to college to finish my degree.
At 60, I rarely use any of the skills or classroom information I studied for my degree.
At 50, I was insulted to receive an invitation to join the AARP.
At 60, I ask if I qualify for the senior discount.
At 30, I quickly lost 20 pounds after the baby’s birth.
At 60, the 20 pounds – and more – have returned time and again.
At 20, I sat and listened politely when older folks talked.
At 60, I work hard to sit and listen politely when younger folks talk.
At 20, I blithely promised my husband for better or for worse, for sickness and in health.
At 60, I remember the effort it took some days, even some years, to keep that promise.
At 20, I figured I was more than ready for marriage and a family.
At 60, I realize how little I knew then and how much I have yet to learn.
At 20, I had no clue just how much money it took to feed a family, keep them healthy and in a warm house with clean clothes.
At 30, I knew how to can fruits and vegetables, how to sew a three-piece suit and how to stretch a dollar 10 different ways.
At 40, I suffered sticker shock at the price of college for my children.
At 50, I looked in astonishment at the ways God provided for college.
At 60, I thank the Lord we can still afford to travel to visit our far-flung family.
At 30, I smugly said “I don’t need glasses.”
At 40, I admitted readers made it easier.
At 50, I began yearly visits to the eye doctor.
At 60, I reach for my bifocals and wear them every day.
At 10, I figured I would live forever.
At 20, I saw my grandparents’ health fail.
At 30, my parents became the oldest living generation.
At 40, my mother passed.
At 50, my family began arranging a home for my father.
At 60, my husband and I talked about final arrangements.
At 10, I asked my grandmother to teach me how to knit.
At 60, I ask my granddaughters if they want me to teach them how to knit.
At 16, I moved across the country and wrote dozens of letters every month to keep in touch.
By 60, my children had moved across the country and keep in touch with Facebook, email or Twitter – and rarely send me a letter.
At 10, I proudly celebrated when I blew out all the candles.
At 60, I wonder who has that much breath?
(The aging Joan Hershberger is a reporter at the News-Times.)