Surreal

Sometimes being an adult is very surreal. When did I get to be nearly 42 years of age? I don’t feel that old. How did I get all this responsibility? When did I start worrying so much about the how dreary the future looks? Is this what my parents’ life was like all my years of growing up? It didn’t seem like it. Obviously, I wasn’t paying attention.

 

Nothing is more surreal that watching my kids at their activities. I remember dance class (a little) or soccer (hated it). Yes, yes, I remember griping about school (for no apparent reason) and conflicts with girlfriends that made no sense (and still don’t – it’s like déjà vu with Emry some days). But lately, I remember playing with other kids at church. I guess because we were there so much. 

 

This year I’ve been helping in Emry’s Sparks class on Wednesday nights. Having never attended Awana growing up (except once as a guest with a friend), I knew nothing about Sparks. I still feel a bit lost, but it’s fun to be in Emry’s class and get to know some of the kids her age. All in all, kids haven’t changed much in 35 years. They even dress the same. Just not quite so much neon…or demin…or curled bangs and side ponytails. But baggy is back. And jeans with buttons instead of zippers – a fashion that never should have reappeared.

 

The Sparks have gym time right in the middle of the rest of their activities. Upstairs we troop all 15 to 23 of them, try to separate them into four groups (there are always one or three who have no clue what color they were just told…the same one or three each week) and the games begin. I participate or observe, depending on what they’re up to…and wonder how I got to be the parent in the room instead of the kid racing across the floor.

 

Some of those kids bring back lots of memories. Like Nehemiah sliding across the gym floor at every opportunity. Or meandering around, present in body but off in left field in every other way. He’s clompy, and a clown, and always wearing a goofy grin. Like Josh Harris, only without the cowboy boots. I can remember girls so spacey you wondered if they heard two words of instruction, scampering off after everyone else just because everyone else is running.  There’s the girl who has one speed: slow. Walks slow, runs slow, always the last in line. I have to resist the temptation to literally push her to hurry up. Another girl always has the answer to every Bible question. She reminds me of someone I new really well…oh, that was me! Or the kids who never want to participate. I never understood why not. I still don’t. In my home, participation wasn’t an option.

 

Just like 35 years ago, relay races are ever popular. They are a good way to keep the kids running, even though some never do figure out why they’re running. Sharks and minnows is the favorite game for these kids. In my day it was Red Rover. That was a dangerous game. I don’t know why some adult never stopped us from trying to break each other’s arms. Or why none of us ever broke an arm.

 

One would think after months of watching these kids run around the gym, tease each other over crafts, or compete to say the most verses; the surreal-ity would wear off. But it doesn’t. Every week I stand in the gym and wonder how I got to be so old…and what happened to all the kids I use to play Red Rover with.