Why I Spend Time With Sixty-Year-Olds

I like to spend time with my parents. Granted, the more time I spend with them, the more I find myself talking about my health and ailments that have plagued us or other people we know. Even so, we get a good laugh.

For the past week, I’ve been spending quality time with “the ‘rents.” This means that I’ve had an intimate view of their weekly routine. My mom, of course, worked a bit. She’d get up at the butt-crack of dawn, get ready for work, and head off in her fancy car to work for her nine plus hours of work for the day. My dad would get up, get ready, do dishes, prepare food for holiday gatherings, babysit my nieces when my brother dropped them off, and do chores. Honestly, my parents’ lifestyle does not seem very relaxing. When I am in my mid-sixties, I hope I can avoid some of this insanity. When I’m 65 (this is how old my mom is), I want to be retired on a beach somewhere. I would prefer to live in Hawaii, but I could also handle living on the Oregon Coast where the weather is chilly, but the kitschy shops are plentiful.

One of the reasons I love spending time with my parents is because even though they are 65 and they don’t really know how to relax and “be old,” they love comedy. This means that my mom is now addicted to Jimmy Fallon (You are very welcome, Ma.) and the two of them laugh hysterically at Bridesmaids when we put in the DVD. Sure, occasionally, Seth MacFarlane-esque jokes come up that cause my parents to shake their heads and growl about the inappropriateness, but for the most part, I can totally get them to appreciate my awesome comedy choices when the three of us hang out.

Not everyone hangs out with their parents like I do. I claim that the reason I rely on my parents for this friendship and camaraderie is because I don’t have many grandparents around to interact with. Three of my four biological grandparents have passed. I still have my Baba in Ukraine, but she lives across the ocean so sitting down for a sassy conversation isn’t really feasible right now. My one living grandparent is my traditional, farmer grandfather. Every time I see him, he comments about my nose stud, my tattoos, and mentions that things these days are worse off than they were when he was a kid. I tend to make some sassy comments about how even if things are different than they were when he was a kid, it’s time he get with the times, and also that I happen to enjoy my nose stud and tattoos and even if he thinks they are inappropriate, I’m going to keep them, thank you very much. My parents used to make comments about my tattoos or my piercing, but in recent years, they’ve gotten used to these and me. They realize that a piercing doesn’t make me a “crazy person” or turn me into a rebel. Even if it did, I’m pretty sure they’d still love me and make me feel special.

My parents are some of the greatest people around. When I decided to take off the full week from my GTA position and “refresh” before getting ready for term two of grad school, I made a good choice. Hanging out with the sixty-year-olds just may have set me up for some success.

Tata for now.

Rece

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