In Memory, Forever Young

The Boston Globe

We are older now than we ever dreamed we'd be, Rosemary and I. When we were children, best friends forever, Rose pricking her finger to seal the vow, me chickening out, we imagined a lot of things. But never this. Grandparents were what we had, not what we would grow up to be. It wasn't conceivable that we could be so old.

Youth, we were certain, was eternal. Someday we would be 16 and then someday we would be 20, and that would be it. We'd stay up as late as we wanted and eat dessert first and wear red lipstick and maybe go to Hollywood and be discovered in a drugstore like Lana Turner. It didn't matter that we hardly knew our way across town. We dreamed these dreams anyway. That's what kids do.

If we ever looked past 20, it was only to 21 or 22. Maybe we'd get married. Maybe we'd have kids. But maybe not because what we really believed is that we would stay kids forever. It made sense. From fourth grade to fifth grade wasn't a year, it was a lifetime. From Thanksgiving to Christmas was at least six months. And from Christmas Eve to Christmas morning was, well, not just a few hours. Days lingered and time meandered and so did we. No one told us that it wouldn't always be this way, that over time, hours and days and months and years, like people, shrink.

I don't know who takes the snapshots that immortalize the long days of childhood, or why some stand out while hundreds of others fade like ink on erasable bond. But maybe it has to do with the pace of youth. It's hard to catch a butterfly in flight, but not so hard when it lands and dreams. And youth, if it does anything, dreams.

Here we are on a summer afternoon, Rose and I, cutting through backyards over to Lambert Road to play on the swings at Jean and Joan Betty's house. The twins are away. Everyone is away, the day warm and still and perfect, no bugs, just sun and clear blue sky. And here we are two little girls in shorts and halter tops, one with hair as straight as string, the other with hair as curly as yarn, swinging side by side, swinging higher and higher on metal swings, laughing, jumping, until we're sprawled on the ground, sneakers off, barefoot and smiling.

It was before Randolph Junior High School was built, before seventh grade would separate Rosemary and me, before we had an inkling that days like this are precious and rare.

But someone knew. Someone must have because there they are, all the pictures. And on my arms I can feel the sun. And even when the TV is on or the radio is playing in the here and now, I can hear back then Rosemary laughing and the distant thrum of a far-away plane.

We were 7 years old when we met, 10 that golden summer. We have been children together and teenagers and young adults and wives and mothers and working women and unbelievably, now, we are grandmothers.

Rosemary's birthday is Tuesday. A square on the calendar reminded me and started this slide show of the past. I am sitting at her kitchen table and we are playing Monopoly. We are in the woods behind the Boston School for the Deaf building a bridge made of branches and leaves. We are in her backyard filling up balloons with water and pretending they are babies. We are at my house making Valentine cakes. We are at Symphony Hall at the Policeman's Ball, up on the stage singing, "Tammy."

”When I grow up I am going to be a lawyer," Rosemary said one day when she was 11. She was so sure of herself.

I wasn't so sure I wanted to grow up, never mind red lipstick and endless desserts. I liked where I was. But Rose said that the future would be better than the present and she got all A's so I believed her.

Children believe that the future will be better than the present, that grown up is when the fun begins. But adults know the real fun is being a child.

Kicking the leaves, waiting for the train to go by, naming things truck, car, bird, hat making trees out of Play-Doh, playing "Catch" and "Bubbles" and "What does a doggie say?" Reading and singing, "A, You're Adorable." Being grandmothers, Rose and I are children again, older than we dreamed we'd be, but thrilled to be back where we came from.