As I approach 40, I often wonder where my parents were at this point in their lives. I know I am in a radically different place than they were at this age, but I am curious about the specifics. I try not to compare what they had accomplished by 40, but it's hard not to at least think about. So I did something that often has interesting (sometimes humorous) results, I texted my mom.
I wasn't entirely sure how old I was when dad was 40, but I know I was in junior high. She said I was 13. And that she was 40, I was sixteen. So, basically, when both of my parents turned 40 I was in self-centered, growing pains, sand-in-my-underwear phase of my life. I don't really think I left that phase until my senior year of high school. That's not really what came to mind when she told me how old I was. I was actually thinking of a very short memory I had at the time.
My dad was a high school principal in a village in southern Illinois. I would say town, but it's really smaller than a town. And I often heard people at the time say, this is a village not a town. So, there you go. My dad was a high school principal in a village. And we would normally walk to the high school with him in the morning because mom would drive to work to a nearby "town" where she taught fifth grade. Or maybe it was fourth grade at that time. I can't remember.
We walked with dad to his school because the grade school was in home-run distance of the high school. There was this small, paved walkway between the high school and grade school. Until that year, my sister and I would walk on the walkway to the grade school each morning after we harassed the cafeteria cooks at the high school. Seriously. We would try to scare them every morning in new and unoriginal ways. And then we would dance like idiots in the half-darkened, empty gym until it was time for us to go to school. Once again, I digress.
On the morning of my dad's birthday, we made our usual walk across Route 40, through Joyce's Cafe gravel-parking lot, across the high school parking lot and into the darkened high school halls. I think that's how it went. These are memories, you know, often subject to alteration due to sentimentality, age, and creativity. When we walked into dad's office that morning, there were black balloons, black flowers, streamers, and dot-matrix printed banners that spelled out things like, "Lordy, Lordy, look who's Forty." At the time I had no idea why everything was black. Apparently dad was over the hill, and I wasn't entirely sure what that meant either.
I think his secretaries or administrative assistants sat all of it up for him. I don't recall who it was because he fired her shortly thereafter. My dad hated surprises like that. I'm kidding. My dad laughed along with everyone else. And I probably just smiled like a goof, pretending to get it all.
It's crazy how much the age 40 has changed, though. It doesn't seem that old anymore. It doesn't seem "over the hill" anymore. Or does it? Is it because I'm turning 40 that it doesn't seem that old? Or is it because there are still so many hot celebrities over 40? Or is it because I just got married one year shy of forty? Or is it because I feel like I finally know something about life at 40?
I'll admit it, I don't feel as mature or as wise as my parents probably were at 40. I think that's probably why I respect and admire them so much. As a person who married late, I honestly feel like I was way too immature to marry young...or younger. I was too selfish, too close-minded, and really had incorrect expectations for marriage. I'm sure my parents would admit they certainly didn't have it figured out either. I'm sure they still don't feel like they have it all figured out.
So my experience of turning 40 is radically different from my Dad's. It's not better or worse, it just is. I don't feel like I'm over the hill (unless the hill is my belly). Sure, things are backed up a bit, but that's okay too. I feel like I have (my wife says the same thing, too) this amazing appreciation for all these new experiences that I think only comes from having to wait.
And you know, things will probably get better. Honestly, I fear writing that out, but God is working on getting me to let go of that fear. Because it's okay to hope. It's okay to expect the next ten years to be even better than the last.
Dude, seriously, the squirrels in our back yard are having a serious wrestling match. One just pile-drived another.
Which reminds me of something else my mom said. Wait, the squirrels remind me of my mom, not wresting matches. She enjoys watching squirrels out of her living room window. (I probably shouldn't have said that.) At any rate, she texted me later that morning, as if she could tell what was on my mind, and said, "Your Grandpa Logue was 46 when Dad was born."
Grandpa also lived on a hill.
