Follow by Email

Thursday, March 13, 2014

When Did You Grow Up?

Today's entry is from Brian Randleas. Take it away Brian.
Do you remember what you wanted to be when you grew up? Most of us went through a list of possible dream professions. When we learned that there were not many openings for real cowboys, who rode the range, fought Indians and outlaws, and drank rye whiskey from a dirty glass, we moved on. We discovered that to be a princess you needed to have more than a tiara and a pink evening gown with frilly edges. Your parents had to be royalty. We judge from mom's old housecoat, and dad's comfortable but worn out shirt and boxers, this was not happening. Gradually we worked our way through a world of possibilities, until as we grew taller our list grew shorter and more practical.



For instance. To be an astronaut one is required to learn things. Things like math and algebra. To be a famous athlete one must be borne with amazing talent, or resign themselves to work each and every day to make the cut.

That being said. If you didn't like math, or the idea of spending hours a day doing actual exercise didn't make you giddy then chances are your list was pretty short.
What about those of us who never got that dream job or our face was never on the cover of a Wheaties box? How did we know we had grown up? Well first I suppose we must try to define a measure of what it means to be grown up.

Would being old enough to vote count as being grown up? Society after all and even our own government have decided that at the age of 18 we are grown up, and responsible enough to be able to vote. What about our first real job where we were not required to ask, “Would you like fries with that?”, or “May I super size that for you?” Perhaps it was having our own car, apartment, or even kids of our very own. Along with each of these choices came responsibilities as well as bills of our very own.

I must confess. With each of these new milestones I still had no sense of being grown up. Although I did have a new sense of responsibility, a grown up to me was someone like my parents. That was definitely not me.
Then one day it happened. There had been no warning. No one sent out a memo. Nothing was marked on the calendar to prepare me. One of my children wanted to go somewhere, or do something. My mind raced ahead to all of the dangers, and things that could or would go wrong, and end with my child endangering themselves or another. Of course I said no. At this point dad had done his duty as a parent and been responsible. Of course my child asked me the question all young and foolish young children are want to ask. “Why not?”

Now if you were reading earlier you know and I know that I genuinely did have reasons. My list of reasons was way to long to make for anything other, than a long and drawn out answer, which would of no doubt surpassed the attention span time limit of a youngster. I also thought better of suggesting things to an impressionable young mind that had not occurred to them before. So of course I gave the old standard adult answer.

I immediately flashed back to my childhood as I heard my father’s voice escaping from my own lips, and saying those four words. “Because I said so.” I wanted to take it back, to not believe it was so, but it was too late. I had said it. Unfortunately everyone knows that once said, words cannot be taken back. They are out there.

I sat down sighing in my comfortable worn out shirt and boxers, and feeling very much like a grown up.

Thank you Brian for that story. Quite interesting and I am sure that many parents can relate.

If you want to connect with Brian Randleas, you can cruise over to his blog and check out his Facebook page.

Thanks to Morgue File for the photos.

See ya next time.

6 comments:

  1. So True. At Some Point, We Have All Been There!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I don't have children so I haven't. LOL thanks for reading and commenting Tamy

      Delete
  2. Nice story and I can imagine the shock he felt when he sounded like his dear old grown up dad. I know I did.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for reading Lee. I can only imagine since I don't have children.

      Delete
  3. A very enjoyable story that is easy for me to relate to. Thanks for posting it, Karen. :-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Glad you liked it George. I think Brian did a great job.

      Delete