I once read that everyone has two ages – the age you truly are and your “home age.” The article went on to explain that a home age is the age you act or are percieved to be when you return to your parents and the home of your childhood. This got me thinking (as I bet you’re thinking now, too!): is it true?
I kept it in mind the next time mom and dad came to visit and decided that I’m seventeen. Mature but not yet ready to be on my own, mostly helpful, slightly hormonal and selfish and given to emotional meltdowns. It makes me a little bit of a trainwreck; I tense up to prove I’ve got it under control and at the same time relax knowing they can take over. Things get a little muddled.
I bring it up now because this last week brought the “Greats” to town – Great Papa Bill, Great Nana Joyce and Great Aunt Cristie. I have always been privy to the dynamics of my Grandma and her daughters, but now with two girls of my own, I pay even closer attention. I marvel at the way my mom relates to her mom and how she has always seemed to me to be in control. To be an adult, really.
Will my girls see me this way? Will they see me and Mama Syd as two adults, friends, and allies? Or will they see how much I still need my mom to be my mom, to take care of me, to lead the way? Can they know and understand both views as true and good?
Truth is, I know that no matter what age I am or what age I act, I will always need my mom just lilke she needs hers. In that I find great comfort because it means that my girls will always need me, too, no matter how old they get.