I Could Not Care Less About My Side Part

You know what's weird? 

That anyone our age gives a shit about what younger people think of us. 

The thought that my grandmother would have ever cared what my mom thought about her sensible shoes and her weekly trips to the beauty shop is laughable. She was busy raising her kids, making ham loaf, and being a boss. 

And my mom? When I was 20, she was 40, and she couldn't have given two figs what I thought about her. The idea that I could have somehow teased her about her clothes, or her hair cut, or the way she reacted to things, and that she'd actually care is, honestly, not something I'm capable of imagining. 

We teased her plenty. She. Just. Didn't. Care. 

She didn't even contemplate caring. She was too busy working hard, ignoring us so she could read her book, and cultivating her own interests through church and volunteering. 

So, ladies, a bunch of 20 (or 30?) year-olds are making fun of us for our side parts? Who cares. I rock my side part proudly. My 13-year-old daughter told me I should part my hair in the middle. To prove her wrong, I did it. She quickly agreed that my side part is where it's at. 

And the use of 😂? I own it. It's my number one most used emoji. It captures so many feelings. I can't be bothered with emoji nuance. I've got gifs to overuse and memes to screenshot. 

Also? I just got used to skinny jeans. I will be wearing them for a while. Mainly because I gave away all my boot cut jeans (and, if I'm being honest with myself, I long ago "outgrew" them). I like to imagine that some high school kids are searching through the stacks at the Goodwill and discovering my boot cut jeans, rocking them the same way my sister used to rock the bell bottoms she discovered at Salvation Army. 

Part of being a young person is approaching the world with scorn. Then being ignored. That means that we, now the older generation, have a DUTY to ignore the scorn. It is not for us. We are too old to feel sensitive or judged or defensive. Let them make fun. They have the arrogance of those with perky boobs. They'll get theirs.  

If you're like me, you might feel a little weird realizing that we're slipping into this next category of society. I turned 44 this year and, just as with every stage of life so far, I don't feel as old as I thought I would. I notice, though, that the world is starting to see me differently. When someone addresses me as m'am, I look around first. I routinely mortify my kids because I'm too friendly, or I laugh too loud, or I'm just so...me. 

I remind myself that I felt the same way when I was their age. Part of what helped me get through that phase was that I felt like nobody older actually cared what I thought. It was humbling. I thought I knew everything. Living in that gray space was a pivotal part of my maturation.

And so here we are, my friends. We actually do know a lot of things. Instead of worry about what younger folks think, let's focus on cracking each other up, comparing notes about fashion with each other. Let's ignore the "advice" from the young ones. It's not for us to listen to them. 

Let's instead focus our energy on leaning into our wisdom, in growing our circles of support, and paving the way for the strong women coming up behind us by modeling for them what it looks like to be self-assured so that when the tables inevitably turn on them, they'll know how to act.