Why It’s Cool To Be In Your 40s

You think you’re so cool. But you’re just not.

AAAggrrrrrrrr. And… Breathe.

E-V-E-R-S.

( Ok, so he might have a point).

Here’s the thing. I have never, in my life professed to being ‘cool’. It’s just not in my vocabulary.

Yes. Admittedly, there was that time when I went to the Wham concert and screamed to George that I loved him, but that was only because I’d seen people do it on the telly and thought that’s how you behaved at a concert. I was only 12. And anyway, let’s face it, George was, and always will be, a God. In fact, I should have proudly owned that pubescent outburst- but I was 12. So I didn’t. Not cool.

Even at the age that I should have been cool, I was not. My goth friend was cool. She didn’t give a shit and wore her Grandad’s scruffy coat and everything, but me?  I just stood beside her saying stuff like, “Yeah, I like the Cure too.” When really I adored Rick Astley.

If I wasn’t cool at 16, I’m damn sure I’m not going to manage it now.

Not being able to let it rest, and dying to know if he’d met a friend’s Mother who was letting the side down, I pressed on.

How many 46-year-olds do you know that are cool?

My hip sticking out and pretending to chew gum.

Mr, too cool for school (literally) looks at the hips, shakes his head in disbelief and says:

Just because you’re old. You can still be cool…

Errmm. Let me think?

No.

Sorry.

Still thinking…

I try and recall the people with whom I associate the term ‘cool’

Well… there was The Fonz. He was cool. Sort of. In a way that only a 30-year-old man who likes hanging out at ice cream parlours can be.

Rizzo from Grease. She was cool. Bad, beautiful, dangerous and yes. Cool.

Uma Thurman, Pulp Fiction. Very, very, Cool.

BUT GUESS WHAT CLEVER CLOGGS?

Haven’t you spotted the c-o-n-n-e-c-t-i-o-n yet?

Durrr…

They were all CHILDLESS. Yep. Carefree. Single. Solitary. Unaccompanied. Sans enfants.

Cool.

Did you ever hear a little voice behind Fonzie saying,” Can I have a lick of your ice cream Daddy?” No.

Or when Kenickie was reaching for the broken condom, I didn’t see Riz whip out the phone and say” I’ll just quickly text the kids and let them know I’ll be late.”

And, correct me if I’m wrong here, but I don’t recall Uma sauntering onto the dance floor with Johnny boy, only to announce “my daughter learnt  these moves for her dance exam in term 3, she got a merit, we’re so proud of her”

I rest my case. How can a parent EVER  be considered cool?  It’s i-m-p-o-s-s-i-b-l-e.

I may not be cool. BUT dear boy, when you become a parent, there are other traits that you long to be able to brag about, and after 16 years of Motherhood, I reckon I’ve earned a few.

• I homeschool you and your sister. That takes the Patience of a saint.
• I gave birth to you. Your head was massive. Bravery.
• I sometimes let you think that you know more than me. Consideration.
• I congratulate you on getting 1000 subscribers on your YouTube channel, even though I’m secretly wondering if you bought them illegally. Supportive.
• I say nothing when you sing at the top of your voice in the bathroom to hide the fact that you’re playing games on your phone. Tactful.
• I don’t look at your messages when your FaceBook account has been accidentally left open. Trustworthy.
• Sometimes though, I might look at the beginnings of the messages on your home screen when your phone is left on the counter.  Honesty.
• I hid that pretend spider in your bed that time and wet myself watching you scream your head off.  Humour.
• I dragged you 12,000 miles across the world when you were 8 years old so that you could experience living in a different country, even though people said we were wrong. Determination.
• I let you leave high school after  12 weeks so that you could return to learning at home. Dependability.
• I  answer your bizarre questions about the world (” how long do you think it would take for a deaf, dumb and blindness epidemic to reach New Zealand”) at 11 pm,  when I’m knackeredand quite frankly could do with some sleep.Communication.
• I love you so much it makes my heart ache. I mean I really love you. Even though you won’t let me listen to your Skype calls and you turn off the ‘find my friends’ feature on your phone when you’re in town, so I can’t locate you… I still, and always will, really Love you.

So there you have it.

We parents don’t want to be cool (granted, some of us don’t have a choice in the matter.) We don’t need to be. We have too many other brilliant labels that we are flaunting.

We will leave the coolness to you.

To you and to John Travolta.

He has kids.

And he has a helicopter.

That’s so cool…

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