Easy like Sunday morning

My family has always been very close, but there were none closer than me and my sister, Sophie, to our cousins Lauren and Emily. As soon as we arrived at Grandma’s house, our regular meeting spot, we’d be inseparable. Usually the only reason we did separate was because our parents had to practically carry us to the car so we could all go home.

When I first drafted this piece, I was on the train back home after spending the weekend at Lauren’s house at university to see the new Harry Potter film. Was there a desperate plea to our elders for me to stay longer? No. Did I need to be carried away? Nuh-uh. Were Sophie and Emily there? Nope. We’re all pretty much grown up now, and that makes me quite sad.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a very enjoyable weekend, even if I did spend longer than I’d have liked on Friday night with my head in a sick bowl. What saddened me was that our childhood seemed to just fizzle out, fade away before we even realised it was going. I think we expected to be told we were approaching childhood’s swansong, were waiting for some rising crescendo to signify we only had a short time left. Instead we ignored it; we were so busy growing up, we didn’t notice it was happening.

A couple of months ago we’d gathered to celebrate my father’s 50th birthday. The next morning Lauren and I were up fairly early, sitting at the breakfast table reading the Sunday papers. It then struck me that we’d somehow turned into our parents. We weren’t running around like headless chickens, fervently trying to cram in all the games we’d hoped to play that weekend, or avoiding our parents at all costs, lest they tell us it was time to go home. Instead we were having a grown up chat about politics and our ‘working’ lives and such, without so much as a mention of our coming, inevitable separation. The worst part about this was that we enjoyed it. We were doing what adults do and it felt quite pleasant. That’s when I suddenly realised “oh crap, I’m an adult now”.

I pointed this out to Lauren as soon as it hit me, and she told me something that sharpened the impact. Being the eldest of our group, I began to mature first. I had no idea what was happening, of course. To me, the childish games the other three played just didn’t interest me anymore, not like the discussions the adults were having did. I felt drawn to the older crowd now, my theory being that I was finally old enough and wise enough to understand what they were actually talking about; when I was a child, they might as well have been speaking Elvish, for all the good it did. I just felt some natural urge to hang around with the adults, and didn’t realise what was going on. Lauren and the others, however, knew instantly. Apparently after one occasion where I’d disregarded their activity ideas and chosen to join the adults, the three turned to each other and exclaimed, “oh no, Matt’s growing up.”

Growing up comes with all kinds of new perks; freedom, wisdom, maturity and others, but I think the worst of these is responsibility. Gone are the days when your life was organised by the schedule of others; now it’s all on you. As a child, I’d hate having to say goodbye to people I had no idea when I’d see again, but rested assured in the knowledge that it wasn’t my fault. I even think on more than one occasion I said “when we’re grown up, we can choose to spend ages together, not just a weekend.” Sadly, that just isn’t true, everyone has that Monday morning commitment that transforms Sunday into home-time. Unfortunately, in this adult life of freedom, choices and goodbyes, there’s only one thing we never chose to say goodbye to, yet is the only thing we can’t choose to bring back: our childhood.