My Inner Conflict

"The child is in me still, and sometimes not so still." Mister Rogers

On my birthday this year I woke up early. I jumped out of the shower and into some clothes. I brushed out my hair, slid into some practical shoes, and looked in the mirror. Then I realized, “AGH! I’m turning into my mother!” Of course, I knew it would happen someday, I just thought it would take longer. What are birthdays for, I suppose, if not to remind us that someday we will be exactly like our progenitors? Meanwhile I am enjoying the fiber supplements and elastic waistbands.

I like growing up. I don’t like the jury summons, or paying bills, or getting the oil changed, but I like lots of the other stuff. Sometimes I look back and say, “Ah to be a child again.” Then I remember puberty and feel much better about adulthood.

Growing up has given me a much better sense of who I am and who I want to be. Of course, I’m still working on that, but the drama of this year has given me plenty of fuel for self-discovery and reflection. It’s been a delightful whirlwind of enlightenment and murkiness. I’ve theorized that deep down where the inner child sits there is a highly active, but well-concealed six-year-old boy bouncing off the walls of my heart. He shares that space with my much larger and more obstinate aged inner grandma. She is turning 81 this year.

My little boy is afraid of lightning and sidewalk grates. He likes looking at the dinosaurs on his lunchbox and running around in his Captain America onesie. Sometimes he sees other kids rolling down the hill at the park and wants to join in. Grandma says that will make her dizzy and cranky. At church, he bounces up and down in his seat, looking for different ways to entertain himself. My little boy needs friends to play with so sometimes he forgets that he is shy and goes for it anyway.

My old grandma is afraid of back pain and inconsiderate young adults. She likes watching the Dick Van Dyke Show and lounging in her oversized moo-moo. Sometimes she crochets or does family history in her leisure time. She thinks about setting up a retirement fund for Little Boy so he can get a good start on his future. At church, she falls asleep in her chair and complains that the speakers are too quiet. Grandma thinks she is allergic to people and frequently makes snide remarks under her breath.

Both my little boy and old grandma like pumpkin spice egg nog and Christmas sweaters from 1989. Sometimes they argue and sometimes Grandma backs off so Little Boy can just run around shooting people with Nerf guns for a few minutes. Neither of them likes being sick, but Grandma is much more practical about it. When my little boy gets scared he curls up into a ball and cries for his mommy. When my old grandma gets scared she curls up and does pretty much the same thing.

My little boy is silly, innocent, energetic, and loving. He is the reason I started playing peek-a-boo with my roommate and a blanket without any provocation. Grandma is a little harder to love, but not so bad when you get to know her. She is discerning, wise, pragmatic, and empathetic. She is the reason I felt embarrassed for initiating a game of childish peek-a-boo with another grown woman. Like the little boy she represents many of my best and worst parts. I will probably never meet my little boy or old grandma—because I made them up and that would be creepy; life is not a Disney Pixar film—but I like getting to know them. I recently learned about the philosophy of Eudaimonia. It says that happiness is getting to know your best parts and making them better. So I’ll keep singing my children’s songs as I drive to work, and counseling friends like a wise Yoda-woman if they ask me to. I’ll keep rolling around the floor dressed like Batman, and meditating quietly on the porch. But most importantly I will take a little time to get to know my best parts and if you’ve never met your inner child or inner grandma, well maybe you ought to do the same.