Still Dancing

It's past midnight and I'm sitting in my kitchen with a glass of wine and listening to some tunes wondering where the time has gone. Two of my teenage girls are out at an end of A levels exams party (aka massive messy piss-up) while the third is tucked up in bed getting some zeds before another long hard day at the Donkey Sanctuary shovelling shit (work experience...preparation for life...Lord knows, there's a lot of shit shovelling to be done). It's strange but I have an intense feeling of sadness. The social media feeds will be full and throbbing - endless photos of young people enjoying the time of their lives. It never comes without pain and heartache, but their lives are ahead of them and they're enjoying the moment. When you're nudging ever closer to the Grim Reaper, which I now undeniably am despite much head-in-the-sand stuff, there seems such a bitter-sweetness to their unbridled joy. It seems like yesterday that I was in sixth form, one of the best and most formative times of my life, for sure. Yet here I am 36 years down the line feeling that I want to be at the party too. Not literally, of course (I'd be chucked out!), but the one where I'm 18 too. It's so hard when they're taking the piss about me being interested in their lives and their gossip and all their friends. They just think I'm a weirdo. And yes, I am of course living vicariously. But how can you not when you were 18 once upon a time and now have three children to rub your nose in that small but significant fact?

It's impossible for children to ever imagine their parents the same age as them. But you know what, kids? We were once. We genuinely were. And the worst bit of getting old is that in your head you probably still are. The flesh may wither but the spirit never dies. So when they get embarrassed at your dancing and tell you to get out of the room cos you're 'ruining the vibe' that really hurts. They don't know that and they can't understand it yet. One day they will. Just like I know that my mother's 80 year old body is letting her down, but she still likes to dance. It will be a sad old day when that urge has finally left us, but I think even the oldest of the old still like to dance...and if you've lost the urge to dance, then you've probably lost the will to live. The music may change but the rhythm's in us all. It's as old as the hills, as old as time.

Talking of which, it's probably time to turn the music off now and go to bed. At least I won't have a hangover tomorrow morning, but I'll enjoy hearing the stories and I'll still be wishing I was 18 again. Will I ever get used to the fact that there's no turning back the clock? I doubt it.