Aging of the Youth, Youth of the Aged

Picture by Jirka Štrébl (my dad) 

My heart beats faster and faster every second, as the anticipation in the air thickens. I’ll be finally going to school
like my older brother that I always admired. My moms and my grandfather said that they came to support me,
but instead of trying to encourage me, they are taking pictures of me from every angle. I nervously look around
in the crowd for any familiar faces to try and escape this never ending shutter. Hearing the phrase “cheese” over
and over again, stacking up to the emmental-nervosa cheese with extra grated anticipation cheese that I had for
breakfast this morning, leaves me feeling nauseous. My mom tries to tell me to stand next to my brother so she
could take the billionth identical shot, but gets interrupted by a loud “Adriaaan!” shouted by my friend to me
from the other end of the crowd. I always liked my middle name better because I shared it with grandpa, so
all my friends called me by it.

The erased marks left on the blackboard and the sharp sound of the bell ringing, marked the end of my first day of school, washing away all the nervousness I felt that whole morning. The worst part of the day was about to start. My family owns a bakery and we always celebrate significant moments by inviting friends and relatives over to have a feast. Although I usually enjoy these family gatherings, and all the different baked goods, I wanted to go to the playground with my friends.

I squeezed my grandpa’s hand and waited for him to meet my eyes. “I know it’s a tradition to celebrate things in our bakery, but I really wanted to go play with my friends.” My grandpa took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off and continued to complain querulously.
“I wish I could be as old as my brother, he never has to come when he doesn’t want to and he doesn’t have to be home by sundown.” My grandpa gave me a genuine smile.
“Austin, don’t” I interrupted him again,
“My name is Adrian.” He looked confused for a second but then continued.
“Right, Adrian, sorry. Don’t rush your youth, enjoy it.  Although things might seem to be unfair to you now, you will come to understand them in time. I spent my whole childhood and adolescence always counting days to a certain event I was looking forward to, and one day I woke up to find out that I’m 80. Yes, being older has its own benefits but so does being young. Your mind knows no limits, and society’s views have not impacted you as much yet so you speak your mind at all times. You know how to have fun without any supplements behind your laughter and everything is new and interesting to you. The things that worry you now, won’t be even things you’ll be thinking about in the future. You don’t even know what I would give to be as young as you are, running in the fields without getting tired, shouting songs from the top of my lungs. To go back to my first love when the feeling of loving someone was so new, completely taking over me making me feel like my head was in the clouds. Don’t waste your youth worrying about aging, because when you’ll be aged you’ll spend it by reliving your youth. ”

I didn’t understand almost any of that at the time, my blank expression probably speaking for itself. I thought that my grandpa was very strange, and forgetting my name also wasn’t something usual, especially since he had the same name as me. He stopped talking, and his eyes shifted back to look at me. His soul returned to his body, drawing the wrinkles under his eyes, on his forehead and around his mouth, and making the shine of fireflies disappear from his eyes. “Come, let’s have some pastries, say hi to the rest of the family and then you can go play with your friends. How does that sound?” I happily nodded and skipped the rest of my way to the bakery.

From that day on, grandpa never called me by my name. He would tell the same stories over and over again, but when it got a little interesting he stopped talking as if he has forgotten what he was talking about. Things were getting worse when he yelled at my mom once because he didn’t know who she was. It didn’t take long for him to not recognize me as well.  

“Adrian Wilson” I froze, reading the name over and over again. The weather forecast said it was supposed to be sunny, but my eyes didn’t seem to stop watering and the world seemed to be desaturated, leaving me in black. I couldn’t bare listening to my relatives saying all those happy stories about him, having the image of him laying in the hospital bed engraved in my mind. Everything that grandpa told me came back to me. I tried to stop the rain from my eyes, meeting his that were frozen in time behind a frame surrounded by flowers. All the words he said before those that seemed to be in a different language or didn’t make sense to me, had a meaning. I went to my moms and hugged them tightly, not wanting to let go.

The next time the name Adrian Wilson will be engraved into stone, I won’t be able to read it.