Just when I thought I'd figured out a thing or two about myself . . .
I read an article where people were asked at what age they started to feel "grown up?" The three most common answers were:
For some, regardless of their present age, the day had yet to dawn.
Being in my early forties and fairly new to the experience of actually feeling "grown up," I related. I couldn't pinpoint an exact date or defer to any particular even which caused the shift. It was a process, a slow one, a series of small changes which lead to a life-altering change.
The tug of war I'd been waging with the world at large, ceased. I felt connected to, not apart from, life on this planet. I realized I was bound to this place in time by destiny, not happenstance.
The biggest shift, a down to earth, comfortable in my own skin feeling, occurred when my concern for others deepened and began to take priority over the all consuming concerns I had for myself. An earnest inner dialogue began. I compared the biggest problems in my life with those whose problems were far greater than my own. The comparison left me ashamed, humbled, and oh so grateful for everything in my life. Now, when I think I've got it bad, I can hear the sound of my soul whispering, "Think again".
It may have taken me forty years before I was able to feel "grown up," but it happened and I was happy.
Then, just in case I was getting a little smug about my new found revelation, a small, familiar voice disclosed the 'ug' in my smugness.
My seven-year-old GrandAngel, Caitlynd, and I were driving along and chit-chatting up a storm. I was taking her to the dentist and purposely kept the chatter lighthearted. She hadn't been to the dentist in a while and I didn't want her to be nervous.
Suddenly, right out of the blue, she said, "Grammy, I'm not going to grow a baby."
"You're not going to grow a baby?" I repeated, wondering where in the world this conversation was going.
"Nope! There are so many kids who don't have nothing. No mommy, no house, no good food. I'm going to pick one of them and make a family. If I get enough money to a buy a really big house, I'm going to pick more than one. I wish I could pick them all, 'cause I know I could love them all, but they don't make a big enough house to fit all of us in it."
I was flabbergasted. The tone of our conversation completely changed. This was a serious matter, a decision of great importance she'd made, and I treated it as such.
I asked her why she'd chosen to 'pick' a child to love and care for over growing one.
"Grammy" she replied, as if the answer was as plain as the nose on my face, "Anybody can grow a baby, but there are too many kids who need a mommy to love them and a house to live in and good food to eat."
And there I was, thinking forty years was a passable amount of time to realize you serve yourself best when you serve others. There I'd sat, feeling collected, connected and grown up.
My GrandAngel's sudden announcement left me wondering why in the world it had taken me so long.
Did I mention that she is seven years old?
© 2001 Terri McPherson, Windsor, Ontario, Canada, tmcphers@mnsi.net
Shortly after turning forty, I was wondering whether I was finally grown up when my seven-year-old GrandAngel taught me a valuable lesson about life and love and about being truly grown up.