The other day, one of my kids asked a lady her age. Unhappy with his inquiry, she replied, “Boy, don’t you know you’re not supposed to ask a lady that question?”
I laughed, and secretly thought, ‘speak for yourself, grouchy lady.’
I’m not a woman who gets offended when a person asks my age. As a matter of fact, it gives me an opportunity to force them to guess it. I tell them I’m old enough to remember watching The Young and the Restless on a black and white television. I’m also more than old enough to remember maintaining personal relationships face-to-face, instead of texting or email. (FaceTime is a poor substitute, and doesn’t count.) I think most would agree that looking into someone’s eyes, smelling their cologne and feeling their emotions as you carry on a conversation is hard to beat.
I feel lucky to have been raised in what I call a ‘special generation’. I miss the excitement of waiting three days for a letter to appear in my mailbox. I miss waiting for a call from that special someone and knowing I can only move as far as the phone cord would allow.
I miss buying a soda pop for twenty-five cents. I miss the old card catalog at the library because the new, ‘improved’ computerized system is too damn slow.
A lot of folks would wrinkle their noses at me, but I liked that old black and white television. I don’t mind watching fiction unfold in only two colors. It made real life stand out even more. Richer and fuller. Literally and figuratively in vivid, living color.
Yeah, that’s hard to beat.
Sometimes I think our super technology isn’t a good thing. At the risk of sounding like my parents, (OMG, I sound like my mother… ew!) having what we want, when we want it has made us too impatient and lazy.
As our world has gotten ‘better’ and smarter, it seems evil is getting its fair share of opportunities. I have to worry about my children coming in contact with cyber perverts on their tablets. They can’t go trick-or-treating from door to door. (Yes, I went without my parents.) And sadly, I don’t feel safe letting them play cowboys and Indians with toy guns in the front yard for fear of being shot by someone in authority who thinks small children actually carry real guns.
(I could blog about that subject all year long….)
But things of the past weren’t that bad, right? My mother always tells me the old paths are the best.
Stop for a second and look around. History, good and bad, is always repeating itself. You'll never get away from it, especially in the news and in the fashion world. (Ugh, whoever brought back Buddy Holly glasses should be slapped with a fish.)
So before you call someone old fashioned, take a moment and try to walk in their shoes. Our life experiences mold us. They make us the unique individuals we truly are.
Yep, variety is the spice of life. ;)