We find it charming, not alarming,
when children pretend.
The young boy child,
towel tied beneath his chin
and spread across small shoulders
waves an imaginary sword high
and suddenly feels bolder;
his power felt from head to toe,
ready to defeat any foe.
The young girl child,
Her American Girl doll in tow,
and dressed for the next chapter
she reads in her book which will show
how she can claim her place
in a world within her safe space.
It is a world of their own.
Children too often feel alone.
Childhood play is a godsend
when the acceptance of fear
is boldly met by playing pretend.
It does not stop at adulthood
when we need for ourselves to fend
and parents’ efforts subside
as children claim adult pride.
Adults, too, need a reprieve
from threats vaguely perceived.
The woman alone in her bed
seeking a strong chest
upon which to lay her head,
clutches her pillow instead
to lessen her dread.
She seeks a strong arm
to lessen her alarm.
The man alone on his couch,
in front of the TV, leaps from a crouch
and shouts with untamed glee
when the quarterback throws free
and the opponent is defeated,
the pass completed.
The victory becomes his own.
At every age we pretend
to overcome what we fear,
what we do not feel strong enough to overcome,
what we imagine might cause unknown harm,
what we cannot imagine we can handle alone.
We are never, really, fully grown.
We fear we shall always be denied
the connected love our hearts need most.
We pretend the pride which allows us to hide.
What if, we stopped pretending?
What if we reached out for community?
What if we sought requited love in unity?
We live in an age of pretend.
When and where will it end?
annarino writes 
Another Milestone Reached,Louise Annarino,2-10-2014
Another Milestone Reached,Louise Annarino,2-10-2014
Today, I joined the medicare ranks, celebrating my sixty-fifth birthday. Like all milestones, it forced me to consider the significance of my life. Why was I born? What accomplishment did the milestone celebrate? What did reaching this milestone portend?
Over the past weeks, as my birthday approached, I consider past milestones. I am not speaking about my personal milestones; only about universal American milestones.
What are those milestones? At age 13 I became a teenager. My bobby-soxer days were finally beginning. I could claim ownership of American Bandstand, wear nylon stockings, and call my Father “Daddio”. Little did I know that wearing stockings was a miserable experience. As suspected, I managed one “Daddio” before my Father put a stop to such disrespect. Still, I felt older.
At age 16 I was allowed to date. This was a total waste in my case. Unless one was invited to be someone’s date it made no difference. The boys around me did not quite measure up to the someones of my imagination; nor I to their imaginary siren. Sixteen was not so sweet after all. Rather, a time of facing the unrealistic nature of teenage dreams. Still, I felt older.
At age 18 I could drink 3.2 beer. I was not permitted to go into any bar except the Center Cafe owned by my dad and uncles. My great-uncle George served me my first beer, perched on a Center cafe bar stool, surrounded by Angelo,Frank,Joe and John. Their advice freely flowed and took the excitement down several notches. I went back to Coca-Cola. At age 21, the scene repeated itself when Uncle George served me my first drink, Johnny Walker. After choking it down with back slaps from dad and uncles, I again returned to Coca-Cola. Still, each time, I felt older.
At age 21 I could also register to vote. I registered on my birthday, joined both the Young Republicans and Young Democrats, missing the only primary I ever missed by refusing to declare a party until I was sure which one spoke for me. The next primary, I declared myself a Democrat. It has taken a lifetime to see the changes my vote has wrought. Still, that day, I felt older.
At age 50 I entered what we commonly accept as middle age. The addition makes no sense and the event itself is more a Hallmark moment than any meaningful accomplishment. At least I became eligible for my Golden Buckeye card, and happily if guiltily use its discounts for the “aging”. I wondered how I could be middle aged and a senior citizen at the same time. Still, I felt older.
Finally, at age 65 I received my medicare card, became an official old person, turned my sneakers silver, and can freely wear purple with a red hat. I am sure that is all my parents hoped for me 65 years ago. The strangest thing is I feel younger.
It is good thing to feel younger because I have been considering what the next universal American milestone is and came to an uncomfortable conclusion. The next milestone is death, or perhaps hospice for a while. As a milestone it leaves a lot to be desired. I am not eager to reach it, I can assure you.
The beauty of 65 is that I can now pursue my personal milestones, those things one delays until any number of events occur. For some it is retirement from a job. For others, it is knowing one’s children are settled and able to care for themselves and their children. And, for many, it is the freedom to speak more freely, explore geographies of the mind and of the earth, stay up all night and sleep in the next day. At 65, it is time to live in the moment.
Age 65 allows us to become kids at play again, challenge the status quo as we did as teenagers, use our true voice for change as we did through our vote, make more mature decisions with wisdom gained through our middle years. Age 65 allows us the time and freedom to become all we can be. We are reborn. We are young again. Today, and every day after this I am younger than I was yesterday. This is going to be a fun time! Want to come along with me?
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