An old biddy

Today I feel old. Really old. Usually I go through life thinking I’m hip. I mean I have rap songs on my i-pod, know all about the latest shows on Nickelodeon, and steer away from “mom jeans” as far as I can. But today I feel anything by hip and young. And it’s not because I feel more than tired than usual this week. It’s also not because I discovered a new wrinkle. Nope. No, the fact that I feel old today is all my students’ fault.

Today in class we were talking about the civil rights movement, and one student mentioned that her grandparents were actively involved in that when they were younger. Her grandparents! When they were younger! In my world, your parents took an active role in the civil rights movement, and maybe some older siblings, while grandparents did little more than chant on the sidelines. They were, after all, older, settled in, and not as likely to get riled up. Moments like that happen far too often and are just plain depressing, simply because they make me feel old.

You know, I’m going to just stake my claim here and tell you that there should be a rule against students getting younger and younger every year. Do you realize that this year’s freshmen were born in or after 1990? That the upperclassmen (juniors and seniors) are maybe from 1987 or 1988? These are people who don’t remember there being a cold war. Kids who did not watch the Challenger explosion live on television. Actually, many of these bitty ones barely know what the Challenger is or was. Kids who know shows like “The facts of life” or “Diff’rent Strokes”, but from reruns only. And the most shocking part? When I ask my students questions like “Where were you when 9/11 happened”, do you know what they will reply? “In 7th grade language arts”. Seventh grade?! When I was in seventh grade, the Berlin Wall had already come down, an event that some of my students treat that as though it’s ancient history, on a par with the 1918 armistice.

And it’s the same with your own kids. I vividly remember babysitting for other people. It was really only yesterday. But now our oldest is old enough to start babysitting too. Not to mention the fact that they’re talking about driving, cute girls, and things that I think can wait another two decades or so. How and when did all this happen? We should still be looking for worms in the grass, and catching lightning bugs. Sure, every once in a while, they’ll bring in a frog or a cockroach, reminiscent of earlier days. And a feat which now actually excites me.

I guess that in my world, I’ve only just gotten out of high school, and all these new developments are telling me that that really is only in my world. But is this such a crazy feeling? Is there anyone else who feels like they’re stuck in, say, 1992? I’ve gotten better – whenever I read or heard that someone was born in 1983, I used to think they were six. I’ve now moved up in time; someone born in 1983 is now no older than 13. At least in my world. Scarily, I think that one of my highly-esteemed, knowledgeable, and pretty much indispensible colleagues was born in 1983. Wow.

I know there’s no stopping time. I know my students are going to get older and know less and less about moments that were defining to my life. The kids are going to grow up and move out. But can I then, at least in my head, still pretend that Madonna is in her True Blue phase, the Backstreet Boys are something of the future, “Who’s the Boss” is the hottest show around, and the kids still want to be a superhero like their dad?