I was driving my mother to the store the other day. We were talking about Dylan. I always joke that he’ll still be living at home when he’s 35.
My mother asked me if I remembered when I realized I’d become an adult. I thought about it and had to answer that I never had. “I’m glad you said that,” she said. “I never did either.”
What I do remember is thinking maturity was always somewhere in the future. When I was a teenager I thought it was 21. In my 20s I thought it was 30. I’m 51 now and I still have the same, off in the future, feeling.
My mother said she was the same person she had always been. She is coming to terms with it always being that way.
I know the sum of our experiences must have molded us in some way.
My mother and I share the same memory that we were never children in our minds. Maybe we missed out on something. I remember adults having a problem with my lack of automatic respect for their authority.
My mom found my reaction to her childhood photos very funny. I’m unnerved by her adult face on her child’s body.