Do you consider yourself to be young? Still in your youth?
I think that maybe that moment has passed for me. Passed two weeks ago to be exact.
Two weeks ago my eldest son came to me laughing, saying there was a, “Really funny video you have to see on YouTube, Mum. With this guy, saying this thing.”
He’d just discovered Gary Coleman saying that line. You know, the one that everyone said all through school.
Two weeks ago I was sitting at a cafe in Bondi. Next to me a trio of super lithe ladies with tangled hair and leggings-as-pants were smoking cigarettes and sniggering. “Did you see American Beauty on TV last night?” One of them squawked. “New favourite muhvie!” That was my favourite movie too, when I was about their age.
Two weeks ago I happened upon a post on Instagram. I love Instagram. A young whippsnapperin’ hipster hairdresser had posted a still from a film he’d just discovered. The still was of Cher, Winona Ryder and a nine year-old Christina Ricci. Also my favourite movie when it was originally released. In 1990. Which I keep thinking was about 10 years ago.
Two weeks ago I realised that if the assessment of ‘my day’* having come and gone could be measured by the cultural norms of my youth having become quaint retro fancies of today’s youngins, then consider me measured.
Goodbye youth. You were ridiculously misspent.
*As in, “In my day we walked for five miles in the snow to get to school.” Never mind that there is no snow here. Or imperial measurement.3 Comments