THE ROCKWOOD FILES: Reality In The Mailbox

BETTER TO FEEL OLD

Lately the mailbox is making me feel old.

In addition to those annoying bills, it’s always full of, now there’s a new smack in the face - the graduation announcements.

I enjoy the graduation announcements because they have photos of people I know and love. I’m happy to send gifts and cards of congratulations, just like people did for me when I was the one wearing the cap and gown.

But when I open those cards, I have to face the facts: Those cute little kids - the ones I could have sworn couldn’t be older than 12 - are graduating high school, or, even more shocking, college.

It wasn’t always this way.

In college, the mailbox gave me a steady stream of credit card applications. Then it was flooded with save-the-date postcards, bridal shower invitations and lovely thank you notes for wedding gifts.

Then the baby shower invitations started arriving - adorable little cards adorned with baby ducks and pink or blue ribbons.

A few months after the baby shower invitation was delivered, there’d be an even cuter card announcing the birth of a new baby fresh from God. Those were always my favorites.

But now, I can’t even remember the last bridal shower invitation I got out of the mailbox. And the baby shower invitations stopped coming several years ago.

This year is proof that we’ve entered the “graduation announcement” phase of our lives. One of the last ones we received was from our friends’ son who just graduated from Ole Miss University. When I opened the card, my mind fl ashed back to sitting cross-legged in the living room floor with him across from me. He was wearing a Huggies diaper and a blue onesie, not even 1-year-old.

I’d hand him toys, and he’d flash one of those gummy baby smiles at me - the ones so cute it makes your ovaries cramp up when you see it. And now? He’s a college graduate. With facial hair. And career plans.

And a fiancee. How did it all happen so fast?

As if all this graduation news wasn’t enough, I’ve also somehow been placed on the mailing list for the AARP - a fact that my husband (who is five years older than me) finds wildly amusing. Clearly, the AARP has made a mathematical error because I’m not even close to membership age.

Then again, I do learn things from people who are well past the age of 50. I have breakfast every morning with my 78-year old father at the Waffle Hut.

We sit at the bar and talk to Norma, the cook, and eat her delicious French toast and bacon, eggs over easy and buttered grits.

Then we read the newspaper, passing sections back and forth to each other. One day I noticed that Dad always checks the obituaries first.

“That’s a little morbid, don’t you think?” I asked, to which he shrugged his shoulders and replied matter-of-factly, “Gotta see if somebody I know is in there.”

And that put things right back into perspective. I’m lucky to get happy announcements in the mail.

GWEN ROCKWOOD IS A SYNDICATED FREELANCE COLUMNIST.

Life, Pages 9 on 05/29/2013

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