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I’m driving back to my parents’ home from a state park on a beautiful summer day.
My mother is riding shotgun; my dad is in the back seat. I have Google directions on my car dashboard, out of habit.
“We know how to get home!” my mother says. And of course she does.
“Turn here,” my mother says. “Turn in one-quarter mile,” Ms. Google orders.
Now I am in a quandary. “That’s wrong,” my mother says—meaning the directions Ms. Google has just given.
“There’s nothing up ahead,” my dad confirms.
“The turn is here,” my mother insists. I am not always the best daughter. I drive on.
I can feel the skepticism seeping out of my parents. I turn onto the little road that Ms. Google has suggested. “You’re on your own now!” my father says.
“Turn right in one-half mile,” Ms. Google tells me. Then, “Turn left in one-quarter mile.”
“I have never been here before,” my mother says. My father says nothing.
“She’s taking us around the slow part,” my mother observes. My dad remains silent.
We emerged onto the road we would have come to, but a bit sooner than expected, having missed several slowdowns and traffic lights.
“I never knew you could go that way!” my mother exclaimed.
“We have a new route!” my father said.
And I realized, once again, why I admire my parents so much. My dad turned 91 this year and, although my mother might prefer I not mention it, she’s going to turn 90 later this year. It would certainly be reasonable, at their time in life, to have found all the routes they were interested in taking and stick to them.
But I have never sensed that either one of them was through learning. And I am not finished learning from them, either.
I know a lot of folks my own age who think they have everything figured out. They tell me how it’s all downhill from here—whether they are talking about the country or their health or literature, or the quality of baked goods. Everything was better in the past, and now we’re all addicted to social media and reliant on the internet and nothing good will ever come of it.
They are not interested in a new route.
I want to be like my parents when I am 90. I want to be open to new routes. I may be sure I am right, but I want to be happy and surprised if proven wrong and something better shows up. I want to be open to new information, new stories, new ways of doing things. I want to try a new dish, a new path, a new idea. I think this is the way you get to be 90 and still have a lot of living to do.
My dad uses his tablet to look up birds. My mom solves Wordle every day, sometimes consulting with her sister in California while she does it. They are better informed than I am about current events and attend more musical and theater performances than I do. They will be the first to tell you they are slowing down. But to hear them tell it, slowing down doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.
“We’re not in a hurry,” my dad will say.
“We don’t have anywhere we have to be today,” my mother will add.
And that is why they are so much fun to be with. We have plenty of time when we are together. We have time to find a new route. Till next time, Carrie To see photos, check out Carrie ClassonAuthor on Facebook or visit CarrieClasson.com.
