I Will Not Grow Up and You Can’t Make Me!

December 15, 2008

Today is my birthday. 52. I, Anita, am 52 years old. Whoa. How did that happen? I was a young thing a couple years ago, give or take 30 years more or less, so imagine my surprise to wake up this morning and discover that I’m 50 plus change.

Seriously, I’m not one given to mourning the passing of my youth. There’s something I actually like about getting older even while I reserve the right to suspend a small part of my brain in disbelief that it’s actually happening. Perhaps if I acted older, I could let go of that illusion but I just don’t see that happening any time soon. I have no intention of discontinuing my avid collecting of Pez Candy Dispensers. I’m not giving away my head to tail to toe Tigger costume I bought several years ago at Disneyland just because I really needed it and I will continue throughout this holiday season to wear one red and one green Crocs simply because doing so makes people smile. Whether the smiles are more an indication of pity than delight makes no matter to me.

D and I went to a toy store in Mendocino over Thanksgiving. Among the play costumes and hats was the most awesome silver metallic robot mask ever. I had to have it and D consented to the purchase on the condition  it was to be used exclusively as a prop for a children’s sermon. Apparently she feared I might whip it out at our next dinner party or a funeral so I agreed. Of course! The shiny cool robot mask with the yellow felt knobs on the sides and the bendable black wire loop on the top for picking up interplanetary signals was for the children, and she’s reminded me it’s for the children both times I’ve put it on at home and chased the cats.

Don’t even ask about the “SuperHero in a Box” I was able to wrangle out of her for Christmas. Blue cape with red insignia. Matching wrist bands. Black eye mask. I can just picture myself now standing beside the Christmas tree akimbo ready for heroic deeds. The cats should be afraid. Very afraid.

I don’t know how 52 looks in anyone else’s home but that’s pretty much how it looks in ours and so I don’t mind getting older even as I accept that nothing about my journey toward my senior years could be labeled as growing old gracefully, which by the way, I consider highly over-rated and far less fun. Either way, whether I’m playing the part of a mature middle-aged woman or a giddy five year old trapped behind wrinkly skin and creaky bones, I love my life. I mean that in the most heart-felt grateful of ways. There have been some rough spots and no doubt there will be more since as a general principle life pretty much guarantees it’s going to be as messy on occasion as it is glorious but overall the privilege of living in this world is a mighty fine thing. Looking back over my 51st year, these are a few of the things for which I’m most grateful:

• D and I have tasted equality under the law and were (and remain) legally married.
• My mom is still living and continues to be as funny, thoughtful, and dear as ever.
• I was given the gift of being a godmother to the most adorably sweet little boy who has ever graced my corner of the world. I love you Moses. We have some great years ahead my little man.
• I love and am loved by the one who had me hook, line, and sinker the moment she first smiled in my direction.
• SisterFriends Together and Peace Lutheran Church have been open doors of ministry in my life.
• I continue to have my health, a roof over my head, food in the cupboards, and hope that just about anything is possible.
• God loves me.

I kid you not; a little blonde-haired girl in a full Batman costume just walked past my table in the coffee shop clinging to her mother’s hand. It appears as though the 52nd year of my life is already shaping up to be as memorable as year 51.

Posted in Anita, Storytelling