Thirteen-year-old me was enjoying the Mets run for their fateful World Series, dreaming of playing in the major leagues myself, and otherwise mostly desperate for a girlfriend.
In 1986 I hated school, loved cars, and rode BMX bikes to The Pit, a construction site hole in the ground converted into a kid-made bike park.
I loved family and had dreams that everyone would live on a huge property together. I loved animals and imagined owning a zoo someday.
It was typical in those to be a latchkey kid. Independent. Making my own money. Getting myself around town on two wheels, bummed rides, and public transportation.
That kid was a dreamer and fiercely individual. He resisted anything that looked like assimilation. The places where this innate passion surfaced the most was in church and school.
The funny thing is, as much as these places of worship and learning rubbed him wrong, when in fellowship with his closest friends, young Andrew was spiritual and curious. If the universe was vibrating, the most discordant and painful sounds emanated from cathedrals and classrooms.
And while today I practice non-judgement, thirteen-year-old me was quick to judge most adults as hypocrites and sellouts.
“I’ll never wear a tie, wear a hat whenever I want to, and listen to whatever music I like.”
I wonder what that little punk would think about me today?
He wouldn’t give two shits about my PhD. He wouldn’t be impressed by my job. I think he’d be sad that I wasn’t designing cars and working with colored pencils and clay models. What would probably bother him the most is how disconnected the family became.
There’s no way he could imagine a dad and sister living in Kansas and himself in North Carolina. Nor his best friends in Ohio and Ecuador.
But. By and large. That kid, I bet, would be pretty impressed with how the old man turned out.
He’d LOVE my wife. Abby alone. Jackpot! Drop the mic.
Fifty-three year old me only wears ties to weddings and funerals. He wears hats whenever he wants to. He’s still riding bikes, has two dogs, sweet truck, and an Airstream. He has a strong healthy body that hiked all of Watkins Glen Gorge Trail without breaking a sweat.
He’s still as spiritual and curious as he was thirty years ago. And he still feels the discordant vibrations emanating from cathedrals and classrooms. But he’s A LOT less judgmental.
Author’s Note: This essay was inspired by a Chicken Soup for the Soul prompt: Is there something you’ve accomplished that would impress your younger self?
Thank you for reading #DiMeo_Unfiltered
(Note: This was originally published on Medium here.)
Health, happiness, kindness, respect
for every being and all things.
— Andrew
