Adult Development 101

The other day I was talking about families and kids with my daughter-in-law. They have chosen not to have children which, even in this enlightened century, goes against the grain. It is interesting to me to hear the pressures, subtle and not, that are directed toward a couple who are well-educated, prosperous and don't want kids. She says they find themselves being odd-man-out all the time. They also reap a certain amount of envy and resentment from people who are raising children.

Our conversation got me thinking about choices in a new way. Every new baby represents possibility at birth. Who will this new being turn out to be? If you are a parent, or involved with babies and kids in any capacity, it's natural to speculate about the child's future. When my son was 15, I wondered if he was going to turn into a misogynistic serial killer. He wore black, listened to terrible, violent music, and wouldn't come out of his room. It didn't happen. He's a caring, careful physician now and he loves his mama, and adores his wife.  As for my daughter, she seemed destined to a life of disorganization and chaos, judging by her school career. Yet here she is, running a museum, supervising people, researching and learning. And she keeps me in stitches on the phone several times a week. We have conversations I couldn't have with anybody else.

As a teacher, I reminded myself that every class of 22 was a sample ---- which kid would turn out to be gay? Which would die before growing old? Which would become wealthy, go on food stamps, go in the military, go to jail? Even in first grade, they had some very established personality and nervous system traits that would affect their eventual outcomes. But they were also developing, malleable, open to suggestion and influence. Actually, teaching ---- and parenting ---- are pretty awesome responsibilities for nurturing the next generation.

But my conversation with Aury also made me think about adult development. Everybody knows that children are under construction, but what about adults? What makes us become the people we are by the end of life? Because I know that I'm not the same person I was at 25 or 45 or even last year. So there is still development going on, thank goodness.

I think about the people I know who have attained ages in their 80s and 90s. There is a perception that once people are adults, they pretty much keep the characteristics they already have. But that's not true. Every stage of life has its own unique challenges, and people change in response to them. Yes, maybe there is a baseline --- someone who has been introverted and withdrawn since infancy is not likely to become a party girl at 70. There's even some evidence that optimism/pessimism may have a neurological basis that is acted upon by life.

But I'm thinking mostly about people I grew up with. Somehow or another, we're all getting older at the same rate, but we're not aging the same. You know the stereotypes about the elderly: the sweet little old lady, the curmudgeonly old man, the complaints, the stinginess, the childishness, the difficulty learning new things, the CRS (can't remember shit) ---- all with some seeds of truth, but none with universal application. There is much variation in how we age. So what causes that?

Just as we look at a child and wonder who they will become, we can look at our spouses, parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, teachers, friends, and wonder who they will become late in life. I have two former husbands and I can look at each of them and see who I would have been living with, had I kept following those paths. I have some friends I've known since we were children, I can look at my cousins and my siblings, and I sometimes shake my head in wonder. Would I have predicted 50 years ago who would turn out to be a hermit, holed up and having to be coaxed out? Who would still be singing and dancing onstage? Who would jump out of an airplane or climb a mountain to celebrate a late 80s birthday? Would I have predicted my own arrival at this waystation --- not the end, by any means, but moving down the track with more wonder and delight than I've had since I was a little girl?

I love to see the adults my own two children have grown into. It fills me with satisfaction, pride and a great deal of love. At the same time, I also wonder what kind of old people they will be.

By now, I have a new perspective. It's very different to promise to love, honor and cherish someone when you're 18, or even 31, like I did. It's another thing to do so at 50 or 60. I can't see into the future, I can't predict events or illnesses. But I have a clearer picture of who I am continuing to grow into, and I have the joy of being part of Jill's journey, as well. Together, we get to step into the future and become the distinctive old broads we're meant to be. Pretty damn good, if you ask me.

Geezers, pass it on!

I get it now! I understand why old folks like to wallop the youngin's with tales from ancient times, like 40 years ago, before the world was really even settled yet and they didn't have modern inventions. So you better sit down for a minute, because I'm about to launch....

Once upon a time it was the 1960s. What just popped into your head? Love beads and hippies? Strike that. Love, peace and LSD? Strike that, too. I'm not saying they didn't happen, just that tv and movies have romanticised and mythologized that part of the culture, just as they have the WWII 40s and the flapper 20s and the big daddy of them all, the Civil War ----- (or the Late Unpleasantness, as we say in the south).

Back to the 1960s. There was a war going on, with several fronts. One was in the streets and backroads of the south, as Americans who were the descendents of enslaved people rose up and claimed full citizenship. That's not how it was perceived by many people at the time, by the way.

Another front was the aforementioned Sex, Drugs and Rock n Roll uprising. It was fought in large part within the confines of living rooms and basement rec rooms, as well as on college campuses, being essentially a generational battle.

Then there was Viet Nam. As the leading edge of the post-war baby boom generation became draft age, more and more were being plucked out of the herd and deposited in the jungle to fight a war with real bullets, the kind where very young men, boys really, die.

Coming as it did after more than a decade of what appeared, on the surface, to be peace and prosperity (shhh, cold wars don't count, just go play outside and let the grown-ups take care of everything) the unrest that popped up everywhere at once, it seemed, was divisive, disorienting, and entirely uncalled for in the eyes of the powers-that-be. After all, wasn't the US of A the greatest country in the world? Hadn't we just proved it by beating the hell out of all the bad guys on the planet and setting off the most awesome explosions known to man?

Whenever I hear people talk about the Culture War, I have to think back to those days. People weren't just shouting across a divide, they were killing each other in the streets. The national guard was marching on campuses and actually shooting students. Dead. Forever.

It is not that I think this recent election was not important, or that the issues being raised now are of less consequence than those from 50 years ago or 150 years ago. Each generation has to find its own way, and it always involves pitting new ideas against the old. It is axiomatic that young people view the world differently than their elders, and that older generations see the young as too inexperienced to understand the complexities before them.

Personally, I take comfort from reading history. Cultural changes occur regularly, cyclically, along with everything else. Guess what, old folks, we're gonna die first and leave everything to the youngsters. And they will be fine, or as fine as anybody ever is. They may even do a better job than we have ---- I tend to think that's true.

And it happens just in time. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starting to get tired. My body is not what it used to be and my phone is way smarter than I am, which drives me crazy. The banner is getting heavy. Marching in the streets doesn't hold the allure it once did. Sometimes, I'd just rather meditate about it, sit on my deck and relish the wonders of nature, feel my rootedness to the earth and experiment with the idea that someday it will all go on without me. What happens when all the baby boomers are too pooped to move off the deck, huh? It sure doesn't mean that the world will stop turning. It might just mean it's a new day. And there's nothing wrong with that.