Once in awhile, when I tire of the quiet of my home office, I venture down to the local coffee shop. It’s upscale with all of the possible coffee-drink combinations imaginable.
An interesting clientele hangs out there: Midlife persons meeting for their triple-shot, hazelnut lattes, no foam. And small tables of retired men in baseball caps enjoying the freedom found in sharing a mid-afternoon cup of decaf-drip-no flavors.
I’m always fascinated to hear the predictable conversations: real estate prices, diets, surgeries, politics, and always—always—discussions about un-reconciled relationships between adult children and their parents.
Today the old guys at the table were lamenting about how little they heard from their children.
“Makes you just want to spend all your money before you die,” said one.“Not leave an inheritance.”
“Problem is, you don’t know when you’re gonna die,” said another.
“I’ve decided I’m going to carry a bullet and a cyanide capsule in my pocket—and when I’m tired of living or run out of money, I’ll just end it all,” said a third man. “Only thing is, with my luck, I’ll be so demented, I’ll swallow the bullet and shoot the cyanide.”
We laugh, we cry, we try to deny, but the realities of the generations colliding is around us.
Makes one wonder about how many un-reconciled relationship there are out there. Or in my life.
(Photo by Joel Bedford, Flickr)
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