4, 2001 - Sunday
Harry had a baby-sitter tonight. That's happened before - with his grandparents, his aunt and uncle, and even strangers - so it's no big deal. And, as before, everything seemed to go just fine. However, this time there was something that was a little different in it for Harry's parents. On this occasion his baby-sitter was a teenage girl from across the street who is less than half our age. Of course, that's no big deal either, except Harry's mother and I, she more than I, both baby-sat for neighborhood parents seemingly not so long ago. Now we are those people who used to seem much older.
Getting old happens to everyone, but it's easy to ignore on a day to day basis until sign posts appear to confirm you're on course. Tonight was no defining life moment or anything, but it did put us on the other side of an age-oriented relationship we used to know. We can look at our friendly baby-sitter, anxious to appear competent and able, and think she's like us, of our generation or at least closer to our generation than Harry's or our parents. Or, so it might seem. But then, here I am with dress shoes and a tie leading her around the house explaining what she needs to know and I see there's little chance that she thinks of us as peers. To her, we're parents, contemporaries of her parents, on the other team so to speak, and old.