This is Not the Age of Aquarius
I should have been June Cleaver, but I’m not. I’m stuck in the age of technology. I feel like we have too much information now. I sometimes dream of going off the grid and taking down my Facebook and Myspace. It’s too much. I often wonder what we did before cell phones, I think everyone does. My 11-year-old daughter called me yesterday when I was three minutes late to get her from school. THREE. MINUTES. LATE. Come on, people, I’m doing the best I can here.
I remember a time when my sister was in high school and my mom went to pick her up, but she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. My mom was terrified and started driving around the school crying that she was gone. There was no other option except that she had to have been kidnapped. I laugh now because the worst thought is always the first thought in our family. It couldn’t have been that she walked back into the school to talk to someone, it was that she was kidnapped and gone forever. She was sure in a lot of trouble when we pulled back around and there she was, not kidnapped at all.
Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong time. I wish I could be a 1950’s housewife waiting for my husband to come home with a drink in my hand, dinner on the table, wearing an apron I embroidered by hand. Not with all the mistresses of “Mad Men” in the ’60’s, more like “Pleasantville” before they discovered color. I don’t want to be in charge anymore, I want to be taken care of.
My grandma was a housewife in the ’40’s, but her husband left her with two small children and married a high school student in another state. Never to be heard from again until 4 half sisters were found about 8 years ago. My grandma knew of his infidelities and her brothers would actually take him out “carousing”, if you will, even though he was married to their sister. I think that was her ultimate betrayal.
My mom was a housewife in the late ’60’s, but she took a secretarial job while he was in college. He graduated, and then decided that wasn’t the life for him. He left her with two small children and she had to go to work in a machine shop in the early ’70’s when women were not accepted there. There was a hint of infidelity, but nothing was confirmed and now it’s too late to ask (not that I would).
Yes, I know, I tell my kids all the time that they are exactly where they’re supposed to be and exactly when they’re supposed to be, but sometimes I get stuck in the fantasy of another time, another place.