Fitting In

Age is a funny thing. Growing up, the line is clearly drawn in the sandbox; we play with friends our own age. It doesn't change much though high school (at least for me), grades were the great divide, only the cool people or the athletes seem to cross it (and I was neither). To this day the people that graduated with Jeffrey (and my older brother), just 2 years before me, make me feel like an underclassmen. College blended more easily, at 18 it was acceptable to hang with the big kids. For the first time I wasn't classified by my age, and as I navigated my way through Boston, my friendships were born out of connection, not calendars. Thinking about those years now, it occurs to me that it was also the first time I made friends outside the “bubble” of my upbringing. My suburban roots didn’t offer much variety in my friendships, nor did Jewish summer camp. Never intentional, we only know the world as far as we can see it, and prior to 18 my scope wasn’t very far reaching. Certainly BU offered plenty of familiar possibilities, but there was a part of me that never quite fit in. I was far less worldly than my New York classmates who grew up in the backyard of Studio 54 and road the subway – both of which were only tangible to me in magazines or movies. I tried my best and looked the part; the only one I couldn’t convince was me. I was hardly a rebel, but in my own way I took a different path. I worked in a bar, I hung out with people who didn’t have grandparents in Boca (and didn’t care that I did), they were older and younger, in college or not – and I always felt like I belonged.  Most of the names I don’t remember, and some I’ll never forget, but this little girl grew up a lot in those years. They may not be my proudest moments; but they made me a better person and were perhaps the greatest takeaway from my college years (sorry Mom & Dad). My BU girls kept me grounded in campus life, not sure they ever understood my attraction to the other, but I’m glad they loved me anyway and now they know I turned out OK.

Not so many years later I settled back down in my “bubble”, married with children. It was home for both of us and we wanted to give our children the gift of our own childhoods. There’s nothing wrong with a “small world” as long as you’re not afraid to explore beyond it. Jeffrey has always been a person with no blinders; his friendships have no criteria and no judgment. I’d like to believe that I’m the same way, and ultimately I get there, but I am not as pure of heart in the beginning. I think I'm a pretty good judge of character, my intuition is on the money more often than not, but I’ve probably made some mistakes that hurt. Coming home again you’d think that friends were easy to come by, and some were, but my 26-year old peers weren’t having babies yet and my phone wasn’t ringing off the hook with invitations to playgroup. All of the sudden, I was too young to play with again. So I “lied up” a little and went to Gymboree with the older moms and referred to myself as “almost 30” until I really was. The tables turned when I had Andrew at 33, and then I was too old to socialize with the first time moms. At birthday parties I was introduced with the tag line, “Andrew’s her third!”  I was like Goldilocks of the nursery set; too young, too old - when was I going to be just right?

The thirties became the forties and along the way the age mattered less and less. Through work or community I built new relationships that were ageless. I went to birthday parties celebrating 30 & 50-year olds, I attended baby naming’s & bridal showers, and nobody cared how old I was, or wasn’t. Now at 49, the faces in my life are young and not so young, they are new parents and grandparents, and it doesn’t really matter which. I laugh just as loud with the 60 something’s as I do with the 30 something’s, with slightly different historical references. It does freak me out a little when Facebook reminds me someone was born in the 70’s (or 80’s), but maybe they feel the same way staring back at my 1962. If I do the math correctly, some are closer in years to my 22-year old son, but a bond is built on more than days. Ageism is a two-way street; both sides of the yellow line can find value in the other. I figure my “chronically challenged” crowd keeps me youthful and maybe I give them hope that almost 50 isn’t so bad. The "wiser" set in front of me offers a preview of the good years ahead and when they tell me I'm a "baby" I don't get mad. My friendships don’t make me feel older or younger; they just make me feel like I fit, perfectly.