3’s a Breeze – Crossing the Line

Downstairs 

There is an invisible line a child must cross on their road to adulthood, it runs through a no man’s land for a few years and is often blurred by perception. It can be confusing. For instance – when I look at my adult/children I invariably see the child they used to be, when they look in the mirror they see the adult they have become. It comes down to point of view. I don’t know if anyone can actually pinpoint their crossing of the line but everyone eventually does.

Recently I’ve noticed my adult/children are of an age where they are approaching another line, one they probably haven’t seen coming. I got a front row seat to their upcoming transition just the other day.

We were having a designated gardening day – the weather was cooperating and the season was ripe. We were mowing, raking and planting. My daughter and I each have a gardening ensemble; designated jeans, shirts and shoes; and were dressed to the nines gardener style. My son-in-law also has designated duds for working in the yard but his ensemble includes a hat. It’s a fashionable hat as far as gardening hats go and it serves its purpose – he wears it like a boss. (But I’m not sure he wears it in public).

My daughter volunteered to take a quick trip to Home Depot to pick up a few items we needed for our work party. (The ladies in my family try not to set their men loose at Home Depot, they tend to get lost for hours). This left my son-in-law and me to contend with the debris we were amassing.

Suddenly my son-in-law made a hasty exit from the yard – the gate clanged as it closed. Within seconds I saw him storming past our hedge on his way down the street. (His posture emoted anger – his hat did not).

I could hear the patter of sneakers pounding pavement as a group of boys tried to vanish into thin air. Suddenly that new line I mentioned earlier appeared and I witnessed the very moment my son-in-law crossed it. He went from an adult/child to cranky old guy in two seconds flat. I had no clue what the boys had done to warrant such a hurried response but clearly they were the ones who pushed him over that line.

He was gone for quite a while and I wondered if he’d caught up with the boys. I began to worry the boys were facing music they weren’t expecting from an old guy in a gardening hat – or that said old guy was still looking for them and growing madder by the minute. (Anything was possible – I’d watched my dad, and then my husband, cross the line years ago – it wasn’t pretty).

He finally walked back into the yard with surprising nonchalance. He briefly filled me in on the kerfuffle with the boys and we got back to the business of bagging debris. By the time my daughter got home the transition from cranky old guy to good natured adult/child was complete. With luck that second line will remain blurred for some time to come. Where growing up is hard to do – growing old can be a real …um….. challenge.

Upstairs

First things first. My gardening hat is FABULOUS. It is a wide-brimmed straw surfing hat that is nice and light, but provides broad coverage for those of us who might be lacking in natural skull coverage. If I was 20 years old, had six-pack abs, tight jeans and flipflops, I would rock this hat down the beach with dark sunglasses on and my shirt off, tipping the brim at attractive individuals with the cool nonchalance and confidence that is characteristic of youthful ignorance. Alas, I’m not 20, I have abs but they are well insulated, the tightness of my jeans is attributable to COVID, but my flip flops are “on point,” as the kids say.

There is a moment in the transition from adolescent to adult when you open your mouth and hear your parent’s voice come out. It’s a shocking feeling as the words fall out, uncontrollable and yet familiar and strangely comforting. Why is it that the threats seem to be the most available to this verbal gravity? On the day in question the young men were in the creek across the road breaking glass that had been littered and thrown down from the road. Despite reports to the contrary, I remember casually and calmly sauntering over to gently engage the youth in a discussion regarding their actions, and to share what bodily harm I was going to bestow upon them if I was to observe them participating in this behaviour again. The discussion was brief, efficient, and I took some manner of pride in the clarity with which I communicated in the moment. I feel like these young men left the conversation with a strong understanding of the source of my concern and a plan to be better moving forward.

Returning back to my gardening after my heart-to-heart with the miscreant youth down in the creek, I wasn’t excited or upset, it was like I had put “old man Kyle” back in a box, stored for when he might be needed again. Maybe part of growing up is learning when and how to use that “cranky old guy” as a tool;  knowing when it is appropriate to celebrate our golden youth and all that is good with laughter and glee, and when it is right to rage against injustice, incivility and evil in our world. Maybe growing up is being comfortable with knowing and making that decision.

Regardless, my hat is stunning.