50 years ago I would have been playing out with my older brother taking turns on his red tricycle. I’ve been back to see the house and it seems so much smaller now. Life was simple, life was good. Thr’pence pocket money bought a big bag of sweets: no complications, no worries.
40 years ago we’d emigrated to Australia. Dad had been disabled is a car accident and after 6 years moving around various Salvation Army accommodation we were planning to come home to the UK. My older brother and I were both coining it as paperboys with multiple rounds. I already had my first flirtation with a girl and thought the world revolved around me. Life was good indeed.
30 years ago I was almost finished a teaching course and having a blast at Uni. Bust social life and a great job ahead of me. Life was good.
20 years ago I was deeply in love with my then girlfriend, now wife, and she’d already moved in to my house. Life was good.
10 years ago we were bogged down with the news and everyday existence of parenting a kid with disabilities. Our little girls were confused by his seizures and constant hospital visits and the future was not something to think about. Life was hard.
Today I have a great relationship with my wife. We have four sometimes challenging kids and a tolerable existence. My weight and BP are down and the future looks good.
In ten years my older girls will probably be gone and I may well be a Grandad. Ash will be out of school and probably socialising as much as he can. Cerys will be at Uni or in a job. Life will seem comparatively easy after two decades of parenting.
In twenty years I’ll be in my seventies, retired and Ashley may be in care, who knows. Grandchildren will fill the house and we’ll probably host Christmases and maybe even get away on proper holidays. Life should be good.
In thirty years, who knows? My Dad and his Mum both got to ninety despite depravation in their youth and a major car accident. I will be right old bugger who will enjoy life. Life will be a blast.
Go on. Have a go.
