Defining moments
Today some old(er) dude I know stopped by during his daily wanderings and randomly started talking about nothing in particular (anyone who works with me should immediately know who this is). This dude may or may not be the first boss I had in this building, just about a decade ago. Outside of the usual banter, we happened across an interesting discussion.
What life experience do you look back upon that signaled your transition from childhood into adulthood?
He asked me if turning 30 was hard, and I said no. I've always sorta felt like an old man anyways, so every year I become more comfortable and at peace with self. He found that interesting, so he told this story (I'm paraphrasing):
I grew up in Florida, and where I lived was near this canal--called Haulover Cut--that connected the bay and the ocean [...] there's a bridge there where people committed suicide--we used to jump off that thing for fun!--and we'd fish and swim there when I was a kid... I'm sure it's changed a lot since then but anyway... If you swam out of the canal a bit the ocean current would catch you pull you out [...] so we'd swim parallel to the current and got out on the shoreline a ways down and make your way back up.
[...] I remember I was just about to go to junior college, I had gotten a job working at the local paper. I drove over and put on my snorkel and fins [...] I swam out and the current took me and I just cruised along--you didn't even need to swim the current was so strong--over the rocks and around the jetty until I got onto the shore, took my gear off, walked back, and did it a couple more times. Then I threw my gear into the car and left; but for some reason, after all these years, I still look back at that as maybe my last childhood action. After that I went to work, went to school, did other grownup stuff. But I always think back to that as my last childhood experience.
Obviously, this made me wonder: what was my last childhood activity? I'm still not sure. It's hard to even be certain now that I'm really acting as an adult.
Sofar, the closest I've come is to an experience that I constantly think back to as my realization and acceptance of human mortality.
My grandparents lived about 5 miles from where I grew up, and my grandmother's sister lived next door to her. I grew up calling her "aunt Lula" and her husband "uncle Scotty." Uncle Scotty was strong had cool hats and was always so smooth; he was funny and very charming. They were always together and ate in the same booth at the local diner every night--the diner had a plaque placed there in honor of them.
When Lula died, uncle Scotty still went to the diner, but slowly started to get feebler, weaker. He started forgetting things; my grandma started looking after him more and more. He started losing vision; he got sick and my grandparents took him to the hospital.
By the time he got out of the hospital, he was rail thin and too weak to walk. I went along with my grandma to pick him up. We helped him out of the hospital wheelchair and into the car, but when we got home there was no ramp. At 15, I put uncle Scotty's catheter on his lap, then picked up my childhood hero and carried him into the house. That experience always haunts me and reminds me of my first full understanding of inescapable death.
Now that I think about it, if someone had told me Siddhartha Gautama's story at that moment, I might be a Buddhist today.
I'm doubtful that's my last moment of childhood, though it did mature my thinking a bit. I'll have to keep thinking and place my story in the comments. What's your story?
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