Back to the future

Since I grew up in Boise, the very town in which I currently reside,  I frequently run into people that I knew as a child. Tim shakes his head in wonder when I point out people that I went to elementary school with. Apparently folks in Boise don't like to go far. Today, I ran into someone I knew 25 years ago.

In 1988, I moved into a little duplex down by the college with a girl I'd met, named Teresa. "Ressa" was a cowgirl, and I was Over-The-Top-Punk-Rock. Our friends did not blend easily; perhaps you can imagine. My memories of those days are sketchy, at best, due in large part to a willful suppression of memories. I've not been an 18-year-old Punk party-girl in some time, and the reminder of my former self is an occasion to both avoid, and to hide from my children.

But, today I met a few memories. So did Tim.

Tim and I arrived at the checkout counter in J.C.Penny this afternoon with a stack of loot from the clearance racks. The cashier bound to serve us was talkative, adorable, and ringing bells of recognition somewhere in the depths of my 40-something mind. I stole a glance at her nametag, which confirmed her first name. I still wasn't sure, so I boldly asked her last name....this was a stupid move, since I didn't remember her last name, anyway. I told her my various names, which got a quizzical look.
She said, "Help me out." Clearly, I am not all that recognizable.
I said, "Um, I think we used to be roommates."
This earned a squeal and a hug, then a flood of stories which my husband found quite enlightening. How embarrassing is that?
"You turned out ok," she said, "I wasn't at all sure you would."
She told several stories as she recalled them, and I was prompted to recollections of my own. Nothing like a few prompts to pry open Pandora's Box.
I am certain that I gave adequate cause for concern to all who knew me in 1988. I was 18 and on my own for the first time in my life. I was rebellious and creative about it. I smoked, and drank, and behaved in every way contrary to the values with which I was so carefully raised. (I am so sorry Mother. Really.)

This reminder was very timely.

The first of my children has reached that milestone age of 18. I have three more to follow him. For me to be confronted with this reflection on my own life at that age is good. I need the compassion that comes with remembering what it was like. I need the humility of facing down the heinous choices I made. I need the wisdom that comes with perspective. Mostly, I need to remember that 18 is a step in the road, and not the end of it.

Don't get me wrong, my son is doing great. He is, I think, a bit ahead of where I was at his age. He is clearer than I was about what he wants. He knows himself better than I did. He's doing great.

No, the reason I needed this reminder, is really for me. I'm a little too freaked out by letting go of my baby. I'm way too hesitant to think of him as a separate entity. I'm too quick to panic when I think his decisions ought to be different than they are. I'm rather a typical mom, I suspect. I needed to think what it's like to be 18.
Thanks for the reminder, Ressa.