On flashbacks and becoming our parents

Every parent has those moments where they see themselves, for better or worse, becoming their own parents, whether something they've said, a tradition passed down, or a weird habit. I feel like I'm having more and more of these moments because I'm entering the phase where I actually might remember being the age that my kids are at right now. Back when the kids were babies, there was an aspect of parenthood that I couldn't identify with my own parents because I don't remember what life was like when THEY had kids at the baby stage (plus, I'm the youngest). But I remember a few things about being 6 or about being 4 and think that maybe what I feel now is like what my mom felt back when she had us at this age.

Today I had a nice little lunch after preschool pick up with Eli at Boston Market. While he was diligently chomping away at a chicken drumstick I all of a sudden realized: he is me at 4 years old! My mom used to pick me up from Shaare Tefila, my Jewish nursery school, and we would eat at Roy Rogers, my favorite fried chicken in the whole world. I learned later we would do this at least once a week (which explains my die hard obsession with it, including marking on our AAA maps which rest stops on the NJ Turnpike have a Roy's, you know, in case we ever needed to stop for a lunch break). At this weekly Roy Roger's visit, I would systematically devour through 2 pieces of dark meat chicken alongside my free Buckaroo Club Coke (while my mom made a salad from the free fixin's bar; I assure you, I will never do that like my mom did!). It was then my mom taught me how to tell apart a chicken thigh from a breast (something that Tom is only now starting to master) and it was probably then my mom learned that I save the chicken skin/the best part for last. I loved sitting on the plastic horse with the tray and this ritual became so regular that after a while, the folk at RR stopped asking to see our Buckaroo card because they knew us and our order. I wonder if my mom looked at me the way I looked at Eli today, feeling like my youngest child is so big trying to dismember his own 2 pieces of chicken, savoring the 1-on-1 time with him without sibling bickering or silliness.

Over the recent holidays, I also felt like we were one step closer to becoming our parents. In the past half year or so, Tom and I have noticed that our kids are at the age where, in the presence of their friends or cousins, they run off into some part of the house to play, not needing our assistance or close surveillance. This leaves us parents available to actually have conversations. We've noticed it when Tom's brother and sister-in-law come and visit, we've noticed it with our small group this year, especially when we parents all sat around the dining room table with frequent bursts of all-out laughter. But never before have I noticed this shift up in the generations than when the annual "Cantonese gang" Christmas party was at my parents' house. Not only did all of our kids run off somewhere to play, I was chatting with my old childhood friend, the very friend(s) that I ran off to play with in someone's house 30+ years ago. The last time I saw her was a few Christmases ago when Eli and her daughter were each 6 months old. We didn't quite feel like our parents then. But this time, for sure, we looked at each other in wonder at how neat it was for the next generation to be running around playing, just like we did. And to think my parents' friendship from that "Cantonese gang" lasted 40+ years. I wonder if they knew that they'd be friends for 40 years. I wonder if any of the folk we know now are going to be our 40 year friends. No wonder my parents' disappointment at the slow dissolution of the gang, due to growing families in other parts of the country or even some dear friends passing away. I can start to identify with my parents as they were 40 years ago. And maybe 40 years from now, I will understand what they are going through now.

I also felt like my parents when I was sending out our Christmas cards. Tobey, with the help of his 9-year old girl (read: responsible) cousin, stamped and sealed all of our Christmas cards, ready for the mailbox. That was the very job I did when I was a kid. And I remember seeing the same old names and addresses over and over again, but never quite remembering who was who or if I ever met some of the people behind those names. I don't think Tobey ever read any of our friends' names this time but if he continues on this job of stamping and sealing (which he will because I hate doing it), some of those names which are old familiar friends to me and Tom, might only ever be names to Tobey and Eli, especially if said friends live far away. That does mean that the boys will be "dragged" to weird outings with "old friends of Mommy & Daddy", where we tell them in the car who we are meeting and to call them "Auntie so-and-so" or "Uncle whatever-his-name-is". The kids might never grasp what that friendship means to us just like I never really grasped what those random uncles and aunties meant to my parents. My brothers and I would just bring along a Coleco game or a book we have to read for school and sit patiently as conversation went on endlessly at the Chinese restaurant table. If the other family had kids, maybe we'd interact over making music notes by rubbing our wet fingers over the water glass rim. And so it was this time when Tom and I met up with old friends of mine from Boston over brunch. The boys occupied themselves wonderfully with coloring books (our friends' daughters were teenagers old enough to be a part of our conversation but probably as equally bewildered as our kids as to who these friends of parents were). And some time later when we meet up with our friends again, we'll say to our boys, "Remember them? We had brunch with them that one time over Christmas?"

I can see how age mellows a person. Because as I advance, not just in age but also in life stage, I can see a little more why my parents were/are the way they are and judge a little less about what they did/do. I think back to the argument I had with my dad over whether to purchase the famous "brass rat" when I graduated from MIT. Or the "negotiations" my parents and I had over guests at our wedding. But advancing is also bittersweet, not just in seeing my own kids grow too quickly, but seeing myself start to catch up with my parents.