My Son Asked If He Could Stay a Kid Forever. This was My Grown-Up Response.

Every year brings a new gift that is inherently unknowable to your younger self, and yet undeniable to your older self.

My thoughtful Peter Pan son with his father

Last night at bedtime, my son turned to me and stated, “Mommy, I want to go back in time so that I can stay a kid forever. I wanna do it all over again.” His coffee brown eyes glistened with a barely perceptible layer of tears and wishful sadness. “Oh? Why?” I replied, caught off guard by his unexpected emotion. He shifted from side to side, transitioning his favorite stuffed animal, a red parrot named Polly, from the edge of his bed into his lap for additional emotional support. He continued, “Well, because being a kid is so much fun. I don’t want it to end. You get to play in the pool, play with your friends at school, and learn brand new things about the world every day like why bird poop is white.” He glanced down knowingly at Polly, who toppled over to the side in silent protest.

I thought about this. It was a foreign concept. When I was a child, I yearned to be older, not younger. I wanted the freedom of a driver’s license, the autonomy of money, and the seriousness and sense of purpose that came with a job.

In kindergarten, I was furious that I was the only kid who did not lose a tooth that year. Not fair. In seventh grade, I walked to my new locker in junior high school every hour for the first week so I could experience the newfound thrill of… opening a combination lock. I had been so nervous that I would mess this up that my sixth-grade teacher Mr. Shonka had loaned me a combination lock to practice on prior to entering junior high school in the fall. It took me about three weeks and over fifty attempts to finally master the three digit counterclockwise-clockwise-clockwise pattern. (Spatial skills have never been my strong suit. I was also terrible at gross anatomy in medical school.)

When I finally mastered the lock, Mr. Shonka issued me an official Certificate of Achievement Award, typically reserved for honor roll students. It proudly stated, “Congratulations! You opened a combination lock!!!” I don’t remember any of my A or AB honor roll certificates from elementary school, but I treasured the lock achievement award for years. It was the first really difficult thing I accomplished all on my own. (The second hardest was learning to french braid my own hair without a mirror. I originally asked my mom for help. When she failed, I bought a book from the library and learned how to do it myself.)

A few years later as a tenth grader, I was envious of Shelly Stevenson for weeks when she got her learner’s permit before me and proudly displayed it on top of her homeroom desk every day. No pencils. No paper. No books. Just the permit. The nerve. I begged my parents to take me to the DMV first thing on the morning on my fifteenth birthday so I could get mine. I also bought cigarettes on my eighteenth birthday that I promptly threw away…just because I finally could.

For little girl Lauren, the future was so full of promise. So full of exciting, unknown potential. The past was boring. A known thing. A been there, done that, moving on, get out of my way kind of mentality. But for my sensitive and more cautious son, he’s comforted by the past for the same reasons I disliked it-it is a familiar, safely known, happy time. Certainty is boring to some and reassuring to others. Uncertainty is scary to one person and thrilling to the next.

I paused and gazed at Polly, trying to think of how best to respond. I was tempted to explain that thanks to Einstein’s theory of general relativity and Kurt Godel’s subsequent mathematical modeling, we live in a universe where backward time travel could be possible, based on speed and gravity. But I thought better of this response. I knew my son’s response would be, “Where can I buy time travel, mommy? Amazon or Target?”

I’d leave the time travel explanation to my engineer husband. He’d be much better equipped to answer the ten to twenty subsequent questions our curious son would have-questions that would leave this former English major doing some serious chatting with Chat GPT.

I decided on a more understandable but equally honest response. I explained that the wonder of life is that each age is equally beautiful for different reasons. Each year and each decade will bring new experiences and thrilling moments that are wonderful and special and specific to that time and age. Lockers, first kisses, driving, and prom as a teen. College, first cars, first houses, and newfound freedom in your twenties. Weddings, travel, and (maybe) kids in your thirties. A more confident and nuanced sense of self in your forties. Each year brings a new gift. A gift that is unknowable to your younger self. And undeniable to your older self.

Unlike little Lauren who eagerly anticipated each new year, middle-aged Lauren is slightly nervous about old age-mostly because I’m superficial. Gray hair, wrinkles, aches and pains, diminished physical mobility, diminished mental capacity-none of that appeals to me. But as I was reassuring my son and Polly about all the unexpected happiness each decade brings, it dawned on me: older age will be wonderful after all- just in ways I can’t expect, anticipate or fully appreciate yet.

If you are reading this now and you are over the age of 65, please leave a comment and reassure me. When it comes to older age, I don’t yet have the same level of confidence and anticipatory zeal as I had about opening a combination lock… but I’m getting there.

Happy (early) Fourth of July!

-Lauren