I Will Never Grow Up

I never really planned on being a grownup. Not in a morbid way, where I thought I might die early. I wanted a husband, children, to work with my hands, grow things, paint things, have my own house... but I knew that I wasn't ever going to be grown up enough to be as important as the bankers, librarians, statisticians, CPAs, etc. that I saw rushing to and fro in the world. Maybe it's a math thing that I resisted (seeing as those people seem to be math-oriented people). Wall Street was a very important place, about the time I hit adulthood. When I saw pictures of those people hollering and all stressed out, I thought that situation was pretty close to hell, even though you could tell some of them loved it and thought it was pert-near heaven. 

I grew up in an easy spot on the planet. The South, a bit slower than where the Yankees hail from. Hot, with little or no air conditioning. The pavement in front of our house would melt, little bubbles of tar oozing up. We'd walk barefoot to the store and get little black cooked places on our feet. In the summer everybody really idled down and ambled through, hoping for homemade ice cream, swimming holes and watermelon. At night, we'd take baths and lay sprawled-out on our beds, still damp. Windows and curtains wide open, the moon shining like a lamp, the glossy bushes outside looking like a thousand eyes glowing. The air was like a heavy, wet blanket. We tried to get to sleep before the heat caught up with us.

My mother's house was always neat, clean, sheets fresh and crisp, bathrooms sparkling, kitchen swept. There's a peace in that, if it's not accompanied by neurosis. Mama lost her neurosis when she got reconciled with the Lord, but she still kept a wonderful house. She realized early on that children don't stay little forever and she concentrated her efforts on us rather than worrying about her own agendas. After we were grown, she went back to nursing school and graduated with a 3.9 grade point average. There was time for raising us and time for fulfilling her dreams of finishing her education. 

We are facing a sullen, hot summer similar to the ones I remember as a child. Watching the moonlit nights, with Mars and Saturn doing cartwheels in the sky, I am drawn back to those nights when my Daddy would get us kids to lay down on the driveway and watch the stars and wait for comets to streak by. Camping trips to Lake Alatoona, where inevitably it was going to rain, there were going to be ants, snakes and outhouses. When you went swimming, there were thousands of tree stumps still on the bottom of the lake, just waiting to assault your feet and ankles. Nobody had thought of making swimming shoes back then. You just had to take your chances. We climbed trees, rode horses, walked to Sun Valley Beach a mile away, walked to the little store around the corner for penny candy and a Coke in a tiny bottle. Rode bikes, played hide and seek, softball in the front yard, ran rings around the field next door until there were trails all over it. Family gatherings at Dog River in Douglasville with picnics spread everywhere and kids dropping off rope swings. Smelly hound dogs in the front yard, with no fences, chains, collars or tags. Didn't need 'em...everybody knew each others' dogs. Mamas hollering when supper was ready. I could hear a lady a half mile away yelling "Regina!" every night. 

Who would want to grow up? But then the siren call of hormones sets in, imaginations bloom and the future becomes an enticing place. Possibilities and wings sprout, adventures call and the circle of life picks up speed. Life is both predictable and unpredictable, all at once. Now that I've experienced a good many circuits of years and seasons, it is exciting that there's always another bend in the road, if we will just stop to see it. Feel the heat, smother in the humidity, listen to the breeze, touch a baby's face, hold your hubby's hand, ask an old lady about what was, breathe the salt air at the beach, hear the waves, linger on the taste of a strawberry. 

The other night, I was leaving orchestra practice and realized that I really wanted to get home to my husband. I've spent a million hours with him, especially lately, but I missed him. We fuss and fight about stupid things, just like every couple. We huff, puff, demand our rights. But then I stop and ponder on the heart of us, where we started, what we've been through, what attracted me to him in the first place... how he's constant and tolerant. He loved me for me and for the child that never grew up. How lucky can you get?