I’m not sure how it happened, just that it happened. At some point I grew old enough to be qualified to give advice. I suppose it would be presumptuous to call myself a ‘sage.’ Perhaps a bit self-deprecating to say ‘crone.’ But somewhere on that definition spectrum, my age and life experience have qualified me for a position. For a long, long time I saw myself as too young and inexperienced to offer much in the way of advice. Advice givers were older. Advice givers had more life experience. Then one day it occurred to me that I am older. I do have life experience.
I officially deemed myself qualified to give advice.
For starters, I’ve been a parent for over 23 years. That alone qualifies me to give advice to my children. True, some of it is unheeded, but I give it regardless. For a while I had a job where I got paid to give advice. That was cool. Not so much because I could be Ms. Smartypants, but because I was helping students achieve their goals. I liked feeling that what I did mattered.
Currently, no one is paying me to tell them what I think but I do, at times, have the opportunity to offer my expertise, wisdom, or general know-it-all-ness when I’m asked. I’m not very good at making stuff up to try and sound smart, so if someone asks me about something that I really know nothing about, I usually say so. It saves time. Plus people who act like they know what they’re talking about when they don’t just look ridiculous.
Over time, I’ve grown comfortable with the advice-giving me. Confident that I’ve earned some degree of credibility through my life experiences. Without a doubt, my best and most rewarding experiences have come through being a parent. As a result, my advice-giving frequently involves telling young parents to savor the moment. I have a compelling need to ensure that they understand how short the time is. How quickly the years blur and how, before they know it, they’ll be looking at photos and realizing they are the shortest person in the family. Until recently I had confined my advice-giving to those people with whom I have a relationship.
The other day, however, I became possessed by some sort of crazy advice giving spirit that overtook my body, determined to impart wisdom on unsuspecting strangers. It was around Anna’s birthday and Steve, Anna, Charles, and I had gone out for dinner. While we enjoyed our meal we talked and laughed and recalled stories of when the kids were born and things they did while growing up. As we talked it just didn’t seem possible so many years had passed. I noticed two couples and a newborn baby at a nearby table. Our family continued our lively conversation and a few minutes later the couples gathered their things to leave.
That’s when the crazy spirit took over.
Without thinking about what I was doing, I sprawled my upper body across the booth where we sitting and in an attempt to get their attention pointed and waved and even took to snapping my fingers while saying loudly, “Hey, who’s its mother?” Honestly. Several times I, loudly, referred to the baby as ‘it’ while attempting to get their attention. Finally ‘its’ mother responded and I motioned her over to our table. For some reason she actually walked over to our booth rather than ignoring me and making a hasty exit. And then I started gushing. To this slightly bewildered, overwhelmed young mother, I launched into mawkish adoration of my children and my utter joy at being a parent. My effusiveness was out of control. In the words of Robert Lowell, “I was overcome by an attack of pathological enthusiasm.”
I instructed the mother to look at her newborn. She obliged. I told her to look at Anna. She obliged. And then I solomly said, “Look carefully because they go from that (pointing to the baby) to that (pointing to Anna) like that (snapping my fingers for dramatic effect). The mother was gracious. I’m not sure if she was embarassed for me or not but she and the baby’s father smiled, thanked me, and then made their way toward the door.
As the couple walked away I saw the bemused looks on the faces of my family. It was then that I realized what I’d done. I asked, “I’ve become one of ‘those people’ haven’t I?” They smiled. Charles ducked his head and said quietly, “Yes. Yes you have.”
The thing is, even though I didn’t know them, I wanted that young couple to understand how quickly it will pass. I wanted them to savor and enjoy and love every moment…both good and bad…because before they know it that baby will be grown and living a life of her own. And it happens so fast. Maybe they took my message to heart. Maybe not. I’ll never know. But in that moment of pathological enthusiasm, I simply had to tell them.
Good thing I knew what I was talking about. I wouldn’t have wanted to look ridiculous.
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