My grandmother did crosswords, watched The Young and the Restless, and tended to that garden that I was too young to realize was remarkable. She was young—I could feel it—but aged by circumstance. She wasn’t happy. Never was. Never was.
Some grandmothers knit.
Some bake cookies for their grandkids.
Oh, how wonderful my grandmother’s and mother’s cookies were.
They had people around- grown kids visiting and grandkids too. Neighbours.
They didn’t grow up on video games. “Mario” was just an ethnic name from far away.
I was born in 1980—the first of the console babies. Video games had been around for years, but I was part of the first mainstream generation. I remember two buttons. I remember fighting with siblings because they deleted my nearly finished Zelda.
I did learn to knit. I did watch soaps. And I love baking and cleaning. And I do like crosswords.
https://unsplash.com/photos/person-in-black-and-white-sweater-writing-on-white-paper-GxJ5B_1qSbs
Then I read that by forty one shouldn’t play video games anymore. Kids say this. Kids—tall kids, nonetheless—but still, kids.
What they don’t understand is that we older adults grew up this way. We didn’t just grow up with video games—some of us (not me, but some) made them.
I’m a single mother, living in a world where people don’t drop by. I have no grandkids. My daughter is barely 18. Sorry she didn’t have a baby at 16 like my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother did.
Who the hell am I supposed to be knitting for? And why? It’s not like the world is short on textiles—we’re drowning in fabric trash.
Grandmothers used to knit out of necessity. They baked because food was scarce and family was near. None of that feels relevant today. Not relevant to me.
And yet, I’m supposed to “be 45.” But that doesn’t mean what it used to. And I’ll be damned (yes, I love old phrases) if I’m going to accept what these little tall children tell me who I’m supposed to be.
I’m alone. I’m lonely—like many, maybe most. I have no grandkids, no neighbours dropping in for coffee. I’m not great at knitting, though I like it. I just… don’t want to.
I grew up dancing, listening to music, playing video games—and if the kids think we’re too old for that, well… I’ll wait for them to grow up and figure it out.
I'm not going to let big children tell me who I'm meant to be. History neither, thy.
Thank you for reading.
everything is coming unhinged so that MOST will not know who they are anymore. we will always be gamers at heart. children of our age. knowing and having lived throuh both sides of the digital age chasm.
the difference of course is you already wrestle with the question proactively, when for most others it will come as a sudden shock. a system revamp leaves noone left untouched.
an identity crisis is tough enough when it has grown, i cannot imagine how tough it must be if it came on all at once.
my issue is most games are hollow and i would have rather spent more time in the garden like grandma. i take it as a sign as to what to focus on next while there is still time before i become bitter like so many elderly people for having no everburning passions of my own ahahaha
just thinking aloud, i should not write comments first thing after waking up.
who are you again? ;)
I adore your morning answer late night comments. They are the best. Who am I? I'm not sure. Maybe you can help me with that.
better you didnt ask, ahahaha. the mess we are all in may have come about because we constantly have other people tell us who they think we are. this constant talking and reinforcing notions other people have about us.
"Wherever you may seek solitude, men will ferret you out and compel you to belong to their desperate company of oddfellows."
it's why i want to live off grid in the forest somewhere where people do not constantly come by and subconsciously enforce their programming on me.
whatever you may be: there is likely only EVER one of them in all eternity! sweet!
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Hmm
Weird
Rest. Thank you for that depth
This feels weird. I love it. But seeing my words look meaningful is awkward. Look at me sounding smart. 😆
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