20 May 2013
One of their favourite habits goes a bit like this. We arrive early at the school car park, and come rain or shine (or on one memorable occasion, blizzard) we open the sun roof. Then they choose a song, stand on the car seats, stick their heads out of the sun roof and sing and dance along. Very, very loudly.
Although it can be a little noisy first thing in the morning, there’s nothing like a quick blast of disco music on the school run to wake you up.
On one occasion a friend of mine was walking past dropping her son at school and grinning at the kids. As she passed us she quipped that I should join in too, and we laughed, as I sat huddled under my coat, ducking enthusiastic dance moves as they zipped past my head.
But of course, she was right. After all, on that grey May morning, as adults rushed from school to work and children wiped sleep from their eyes, you could tell at a glance who was having the most fun.
Something happens when you get middle aged. Something dull and restrictive and unbearably sensible. We consider ourselves too old, too mature, to do silly stuff. To be embarrassing. Essentially it comes down to this: we are far too grown up to play.
But there’s good news. One of the blessings of getting older is that we come to realise that behaving ourselves is overrated. We conclude that life really is too short to avoid fun.
Ever wondered why your Grandpa was always causing mischief or your Granny was full of beans? I had a Great Aunt Gertrude who always had a twinkle in her eye, and now I look back I realise she was always up to the silliest of things. She used to pull a trolley on wheels behind her wherever she went, and I assumed it was full of the stuff women always carry about. Purses and makeup and cardigans and diaries. Her back was too bent and tired to carry it in a bag, I thought. And then one day I stole a peek and found that it contained nothing useful at all, but instead was stuffed with sweets and cakes and biscuits. She would pull out a few when no one was looking and bribe us into all sorts of mischief. It explained her impressive girth, that’s for sure.
Like little old ladies in brightly coloured clothes or slightly bonkers hats, Gert was part of the counter-culture. One of the wise ones. The rebels who no longer care what people think of them but instead choose to believe that there’s space for playtime every day.
Not for the first time, we’d be wise to listen to the oldies. After all, what fun is there in being virtuous all the time? Women are always so…..well behaved. Presentable. And although we often need to be, there’s a risk of becoming ever so slightly dull. So let’s shake off that restraint and get with the beat. Spice up our lives.
Next time you’re out, stick your head out of the car window and give it some welly.
