Channeling my mother

I was on the way in to drop off  Lil'T at her preschool. I happened to be behind a fellow parent and her young son. Anyway, she tried to tell her son to hold the door open for me and my daughter as we were entering. He wandered off as though she were speaking a different language. This mom turned around to me and, embarassed, apologized for her son's manners. I told her not to worry about it and recounted to her how my son will hold open a door for the people behind him but stand in the opening. It is hard to explain without a picture, but we're pretty much left to duck under his outstretched arm or just take hold of the door ourselves. It isn't as much of a problem now.

He's 6 feet tall.

Anyway, we stepped on the elevator not because we were lazy to walk up the steps but because we were with people who insist on pushing elevator buttons. We were laughing about how you just don't see common manners anymore. I mean, the young people these days! They don't know how to open a door for somebody or how to hold a door when somebody is behind you on the way out of a building. We were well on our way to discussing how the music of today is just noise when that recognition came. We both turned into our respective mothers for a moment. Damn.

Sure we laughed it off. Acknowledged it even. Still, I hate that. I am still young at heart (whatever that means) and I've got the maturity to embrace being silly. I've got my radio firmly fixed on 89.5 FM, less talk, more non-stop dance music. I refuse to hear stuff played at my Junior prom on the oldies station. REFUSE! But I know it is there.

Ah hell, who am I kidding? I'm listening to NPR just like the rest of you Class of '87 folks out there.