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I first noticed it with a picture.
Actually, I think that’s a lie. I had noticed it before but in little, ignorable moments. The way they’d hold out menus at restaurants or how reading glasses became a fixture in their lives. The subtle changes in their smiles and the new lines on their faces.
But those were all gradual. Silly, even. We’d poke fun at my mom for not being able to read the words on the TV because that’s what you do when things are hard. When things change. You laugh, pretend it’s no big deal, and move on.
It wasn’t until I saw the picture, though, that everything came together and slapped me across the heart so hard, that I had to halt for a moment before I could move on. I had to stop and feel it because I couldn’t bury it like I had the embarrassing memory of the time I peed my pants on stage during a dance recital.
I moved away from my family about two and a half years ago. I never expected to leave Florida, but that’s nothing noteworthy. Most of our lives aren’t planned out, despite how hard we try. The thing is, I never wanted to move away from my home. More importantly, I never wanted to move away from my family. But my dreams were calling, my destiny was waiting, every cliché in the book was telling me to go, so I left my parents and started a “new” life.
Thanks to technology, we keep in touch. Like, way too in touch. And now, to my great love and great disdain, my parents are the king and queen of contacting me at the worst times. The number of random FaceTimes I get is shocking, and I’m fairly certain they selfie more than any white girl at any festival does. Still, despite how dorky and inconvenient it sometimes is, I kind of love it. Partially because my parents are always sources of comfort and knowledge, but also because I like knowing that home is still waiting for me. That the couch is in the same spot and that the walls are still the same color. That the only thing missing is me, and I can jump back in my old life whenever I want.
It wasn’t until my dad sent a recent selfie, however, that I realized how quickly time is going. How much things don’t stay the same.
It was a normal picture. Well, normal if you consider your dad talking a million selfies “normal.” He was sitting on the couch with his new puppy that he obviously loves more than he ever loved any of his three children. Maybe it was the lighting, or a filter, or just the honesty of our new iPhones, but where there was once dark brown hair, gray strands were taking over. A lot of gray strands.
I stared at the picture in shock. My father by no means has white hair. But the silver that subtly peppered his color for the past few years had spread and moved so that it was impossible to ignore. Add to that the fact that he was wearing reading glasses (something he hadn’t needed since he got Lasik about 10 years ago), and the thought I had been pushing down for years bubbled over.
My parents are getting old.
When I say old, I don’t mean “old.” Calm down, mom. They still stay up later than I do, and they’re far more adventurous than I’ll ever be. And I’ve known my parents are getting older. As I’m deep into 25, they’re reaching their upper 50s and approaching what I once considered old. Actually old.
And that shit? That’s fucking scary.
Most of our days are spent scrolling through each other’s lives and staring at screens. We wake up early and hit the gym or we hit snooze, and lose out on an extra hour of life. We drink coffee, we work, and we drink some more coffee. We eat a burger and we crash in front of the TV, and more often than not, we silence a call or ignore a text because we’re just too busy. We’re too tired to talk to our dads about whether or not we got our taxes in on time or how our work is going. We’re too stressed to make small talk with our moms or pretend that we’re eating right and getting plenty of fresh air. Our parents are always there, wanting to keep us on the phone just a few minutes too long or wanting to plan a visit right in the middle of when things are hectic.
But we shouldn’t be ending those calls. We shouldn’t be avoiding those moments.
I know this sounds like propaganda from some mom whose son never calls her back. Hell, maybe even a few of your parents paid me to guilt the shit out of you (they haven’t, but I’m absolutely open to the idea), but whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. The truth is, the older I get, the older my family gets, the more I’m realizing just how important they all are to me. The more I realize just how valuable our time with them is.
That’s not to say I don’t hide when I get the occasional request to “talk on the Faced Time” or that a text or two doesn’t go unanswered. It’s just that, well, we need to stop that shit. We need to stop being lazy assholes to our parents and give them the love and attention they deserve.
One day my dad is going to go completely silver (and trust me, he’ll rock it). My mom might not be close behind. They’re not going to beg me to go on hikes with them, and they’re not going to stay out until 5 a.m. when we’re on a family trip to Vegas. They’re going to slow down as time continues to speed up.
We don’t know how much time we’ll have with them, how many more phone calls we’ll get, or how many more inconvenient FaceTimes with horrible lighting we’ll have to endure. Things are going to change. Your parents are going to buy new furniture and get a new dog. They’re going to sell your childhood home and one day, they’re going to leave you on this world. It fucking sucks and it’s hard and it’s depressing. But that’s what makes it so great, and that’s what makes them so special. That’s what makes life so special.
Text them first, call them often, and do everything you can to stretch out the time. Now, let’s just hope the next piece of technology manages to teach parents how to actually be on screen instead of just us staring at their knees or up their nostrils for a thirty-minute call, or else it’s going to be a long twenty more years.
And if you’re feeling truly bummed out after that, here’s a little clip from Louis C.K. about sadness that’s sure to either really cheer you up or make you feel a hell of a lot worse. .
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Rachel Varina
if it doesn't have snack or seats, i'm not there. hate mail/Sunny references can be sent to itsrachelvarina@gmail.com
@rachelvarina
@rachelvarina
In everyone’s mind, they are always 17, and their parents are like 44. Until you wake up one day, and you’re not.
This might be the truest statement I’ve ever read on this site.
There’s no way I’m almost 30 with a mortgage and insurance, just a couple of years ago (read: over 10) I was driving the back roads with my friends. And my parents definitely aren’t almost 60, because that would make them the age my grandma was growing up.
My dad turned 60 a few weeks ago and it was a weird feeling because he doesn’t look 60. I guess it’s just an ugly fact of life.
My cousin is 25 and told me he’s thinking of going to law school because he’s not sure what he wants to do with his life (despite having a good job). I told him don’t freak out, I’m 31, married with an infant and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.
I’m not crying… you’re crying
Shit Rachel, I was in a good mood until I read this. Fuck, ok, ok, I’ll give my folks a call? Happy?
On a real note though this article was very well done.
I don’t know I just spent 72 hours this weekend with my whole family for my brothers wedding. I think I would miss them alot more if they constantly wouldn’t ask why I am single
Or the super fun “when I was your age I was already married for two years…”
sup?
I feel you. I love my parents deep down but I kind of hate them on the surface. I prefer them in moderate doses.
With the high probability of a nuclear war looming, what better way to get closer to your parents then to dig a blast cellar at their home together because you can’t afford a home of your own, let alone groceries!
Got my Mother’s Day gift!
The other day I was super stoned and the fact that one day my dad will die crept into my head. Needless to say that was not a fun high.
This is what’s known as “Tuesday Scaries”
My parents had me pretty late in life, and as a result, most of my family is much older than my friends’ counterparts. Mid-late sixties, if not early seventies. I had mostly come to terms with this long ago, but last week, my childless aunt and uncle asked me to be one of the few people on their “end of life team” to make decisions if incapacitated, as well as being an executor of their estate.
As you grow up, the people in your family are like the big elm in the backyard; strong, providing shade, and comfort. It’s hard seeing them enter their own autumns, with the leaves starting to thin on the branches you thought would be strong and full forever.
Your first paragraph describes my situation word for word. My parents were 34 when I was born so they’re in their early 60s now, and my childless aunt and uncle had their will drawn up during the holidays last year and made me the executor of their estate. It sucks coming to the realization that the people who you relied on for so long will soon be relying on you. People (myself included) bitch about bills, jobs, lack of free time, and all the other drawbacks that come with postgrad life; but all those pale in comparison to dealing with the fact that our parents aren’t those immortal big elm trees, even though we’ve always viewed them that way.
Amen, brother. I will say, realizing these things early on has made me appreciate them and I guess, “enjoy them” more, for lack of a better term. There are definite advantages to older parents and family, but the one huge drawback will hit hard.
you know your parents are getting old when they sit you down and tell you about their wills
My parents used to take a lot of trips and they would always leave a makeshift will at the house. Those weren’t fun to find when you’re 12-13.
My friend’s parents went to China for a month one summer and they wrote out their own will and left it on their kitchen table. Really weird to see.
I have a thumb drive in my little fire safe with all of my parents financial data, docs, etc, on it, “just in case.” I’ve never even had the balls to fire that puppy up. I don’t want to know.
My dad turned 60 not too long ago, so I’ve been thinking about this more frequently. It wasn’t the article I was expecting today, but it was definitely needed. Thanks for writing such a moving piece.
My dad turned 60 in the fall and I don’t think I’ve still fully grasped it but every now and then I think “fuckkkk that’s actually pretty old” and it’s slightly terrifying