Amusings

Everyone has a plan ’till they get punched in the mouth. 
–Mike Tyson

It was a unique Friday night… Just like any other.  Barmaids were slinging pints as fast as they could be poured… And the recipients were becoming more animated with each passing sip.  The Student Union had several watering holes and two nightclubs… With freedom to walk between with a pint in hand.  

The Student Union bar complex was the center of the academic universe on a weekend evening… The stuff of myth and legend.  You might see the pretty girl that you’ve had your eye on… Or the professor from your class imbibing and postulating about something interesting… Or a helpless and inebriated fawn in need of entertaining conversation.  Whatever your pleasure, it could be found there.

And that’s where I found myself… In one of the nightclubs… Talking to a friend named Joyce.  

It was still early at half past ten… The rowdy and fashionably late crowd hadn’t arrived yet… The population of the nightclub still consisted of students milling around in groups… Laughing and sipping their third pint.    

I don’t remember what fascinating story or conversation I was having with Joyce, but it had my complete attention.  And then… 

*SLAP*

Someone slapped me across the face.  I didn’t realize what had happened at first.  I looked up from wincing and didn’t see where the slap came from.  I turned around and came face to face with a girl from one of my classes.

I don’t remember her name… But it might have been Claire.  She was from my Anthropology class called Collections and Collectibles.  The class revolved around the study of museums… What is a museum?  What objects are included in a museum?  Why were those objects chosen to be there?  What objects deserve to be studied and displayed in the museum environment?  So on and so forth.

The class was incredibly boring for the most part.  The highlight of the class was a trip to the Oxford Museum of Natural History… Which truly was fascinating.  That, and the professor was missing strange patches of hair.

Turning around and seeing Claire… I was utterly confused.  Everyone in the Anthropology class had to do a group presentation on a museum collection throughout the semester… And, somehow Claire and I were paired up.

Claire was a shy, quiet type… Thin and with straight brown hair… Cute in a wholesome kind of way.  We never really talked in class unless it was related to the project… And, even then, only a couple of times.  We had both done research independently… And I went to her flat one time prior to our presentation to finalize the details.

Our presentation was on the Enola Gay.  The Enola Gay was the B-29 bomber plane that dropped the first ever atomic bomb in combat… On Hiroshima, Japan at the tailend of WWII.  The Enola Gay is still on display at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C.

I barely knew anything about Claire… Other than that her family owned a fish and chip shop in town… And it was her first year at university.  That was it.  We had successfully, albeit haphazardly, delivered our presentation the week prior.

So, imagine my surprise at turning around and seeing Claire’s face.  There were plenty of other girls on campus who could’ve been mad at me for legitimate reasons… But, Claire?

Claire was inebriated… And tears were welling up in her eyes.  

“You slapped me!” I said to Claire, in shock.  

I don’t remember her explanation… But, in short order, I walked away from the situation.

I saw Claire one time after that… I was on my way to the gym… And happened to pass her on an empty sidewalk.  We briefly exchanged words… But I declined a longer conversation.

From what I could piece together… And unbeknownst to me… Claire had a crush on me… And didn’t enjoy seeing me talking to another girl.   

But what I really remember… Is the stingingly prickly feeling… Of that slap on my cheek.

I have been reminded of that feeling lately… The sting of being slapped in the face.  Except… This time there is no one responsible for the sting.

***

Life begins at 40; before that, you are just researching. –Joseph Campbell

If you use that quote as a guideline, then I am all of about eight years old.  And by that metric, I am more precocious than many other eight year olds… And more full of questions than other kids my age.  

I have been doing quite a bit of thinking lately.  And I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m wedged into a generational sandwich.  On one hand, my parents… Octagenarians.  And, on the other hand, my daughter… a six year old.  And when I think about these two pieces of bread in this generational sandwich, it makes me slightly sad.

When you’re young… You think about your parents differently than you do as an adult.  They know things.  They know how to do things.  They answer your questions.  They feed you.  When you think of a hero, you might think of your dad. When you need emotional support, you may gravitate toward your mom.

But a strange thing has been happening lately.  It’s actually been going on for a while… I just didn’t notice.  My parents are getting older.  And so am I.  

I can’t do some things as easily as I used to be able to do them.  It would have been easier to climb inside cardboard box houses and fairy princess tents if I was in my 20’s… But that isn’t how things played out.

My daughter is six years old.  I am more than forty years older than her.  My parents are thirty years older than me.  And then, there’s me… The generational meat.  It’s an interesting and sometimes melancholic position to be in.

On one hand, when I look at my parents, I realize that their days are numbered.  And when I look at my daughter, I realize that my days are numbered.

Every time the phone rings and I see my Dad’s phone number, I wonder if it will be the phone call.  “Your mom fell again last night.  She’s in the hospital.”  What a feeling to have…  Dread every time the phone rings.

My daughter is a turd… An energetic, precocious, and comedic turd… Who thrives on using the energy of the adults in her life… That nut didn’t fall too far from the tree.  By the time she is thirty, I will be my parents’ age.  I already realize that I’ll miss a large part of her life.  

She’s an only child… On both sides of the family.  One child to carry on the generations of two families.  Which, of course, makes me realize… That eventually… She will be alone… With no other living family members.  And that makes me worry for her future.  But I’m hopeful… And optimistic… That her inability to meet a stranger… And her endless creativity will carry her through.

And then there’s me…  The forty-something guy who is still trying to figure out what he’s going to be when he grows up.  When I was seventeen, I wanted to be a rockstar.  When I was twenty-three, I wanted to be a film director.  When I was thirty-two, I wanted to be a financial advisor.  And now?  

So, here I am… Wedged in this metaphorical sandwich spanning seven decades… Still trying to figure out what I’m going to be when I grow up… And now, gradually realizing… That in less time than I’ve wasted in this life, I’ll be gone.  It’s a weird feeling.

Sometimes I think of things in unusual ways… I try to quantify things… And put them in perspective.  One time… Somewhat randomly… When my daughter was three… I figured out that I had already seen 10% of what I was going to see of my daughter’s life.  As I shared this thought with her mom, tears welled up in her eyes.

When you’re young, you think you have all the time in the world… And then life starts taking on a momentum of its own… Before you even realize… That time is in limited supply… Or even that it’s a factor.  And then one day, you wake up… And you realize that you’re suddenly in a race against time… And time is a formidable and unceasing opponent. 

You start thinking about your plans.  Ideas you once had.  Which ones are still feasible?  Which ones still make sense?  Which ones… Given that you’re on an unstoppable ride down a long hill… And continually increasing your velocity… Will still be possible for you to accomplish physically or otherwise.  Suddenly… Time… Is another parameter to take into consideration… One that was not in your calculus before.

I don’t have the answers to these questions… I’m still doing research for the final presentation.  Honestly, I am not even sure what my presentation will be about… All I know is that it feels like the project was due yesterday.

Tired of lying in the sunshine
Staying home to watch the rain
And you are young and life is long 
And there is time to kill today
And then one day you find 
Ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun
–Time, Pink Floyd