As you’ve no doubt seen from Mary’s last post, The Slattery Oklahoma Suburb Rush of 2011, the house in which we live is filled with many differing characters. But, one characteristic is slowly, insidiously, becoming the same. Yes, like the rest of aging America, the people in our house are getting older.
As the seventh child, I’ve been used to being the littlest, the youngest, but lately, it’s gotten ridiculous. In fact, my younger brother James and I crunched some numbers the other night and found to our horror as well as chagrin that the average age in our household of eight is exactly 44. What is the reason for this? Do we have an abundance of forty-somethings residing in our home? The answer lies in the old folks.
Peter Drake, earlier described in a post about Peter’s Sunday Dizzy Disease, my elderly Grandma Cummings, and both my parents drove this statistic up, and there wasn’t a thing us young uns could do about it. Where skateboards, broken bicycles, and rollerblades used to abound, now the floors of our home are clear lest Grandma (or even Dad who’s been dodging these obstacles doggedly for years) trip on them. The bathroom is held up for (what seems to be) hours. In fact, Raphael suggested that we buy a three foot tall slow moving vehicle sign to hang on the door when it is in use by the older generation. Mother did not buy the sign, needless to say.
It’s odd, this changing of the gaurd. Where are the “manlly” shouts from wrestling matches on the living room floor? Where are the loud arguments, spiked with Irish wit and sarcasm, and the even louder laughter? My brothers and sisters, the instigators of this beautiful cacophony, are spread across the map. And soon, I’ll be out there, too. But, never fear! The summer is coming, and that means that, at least for a little while, the average age will go down, and the noise level will rise!