I remember years ago when one of my grandsons was about six, I was helping his parents arrange furniture in a house into which his family had just moved. The adults were all talking, busy moving furniture around, and not listening to a small boy who had something to say. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him leave the room, head down, his walk angry. It turned out he also had some ideas about how things should be placed, but none of the adults were paying him any attention. At six he was not accorded the dignity of being acknowledged and listened to. All he wanted was to be allowed into the family forum.
Now skip to the other end of the age spectrum. The older I have gotten, the more the world overlooks me. Like the Cheshire Cat, of Alice of Wonderland fame, all that may be left of me in a few years may be my fading smile. Shakespeare describes old age as a second childhood, and while I resist the childishness of that there is some truth in his description. Vibrant life swirls around me without necessarily including me in the mix. Whole conversations can be conducted with references I cannot identify, the music sounds like anything but to me, and even the jokes can be obscure. But is that really so bad? I have had my turn, and now it is another generation’s job to take center stage.
However, one thing is steady and unchangeable from my youth to theirs. We love one another. Because of that we can find common ground, enjoying the merging of very different lives. So, when that life that I do not share swirls around me, I can sit quietly enjoying being caught up in the underlying circle of love that always includes me. I am content.