I think of my co-workers as my peers. Age does not typically factor in to any of our conversations. In reality, though, many of my co-workers are peers of my children. I don’t think about it much because they interact with me as colleagues, while my children interact with me as, well, my children.
Last week, a ran headlong into the brutal truth.
It hurt!
The messenger was a woman at work who is absolutely beautiful.
Her skin has a soft, warm glow that speaks of sunshine and sandals. Her smile brings spring to the coldest winter day. She is equally comfortable taking charge of a situation or standing back, offering quiet support.
Last week she came to work with an extra bounce in her step.
“I was at a training,” she grinned, “and guess what? Someone there thought I was your daughter. I was SO flattered!”
I managed a weak smile and tightly grabbed a hold of her exuberance, making it lift me out of the ice cold water of reality.
I let myself be dragged quickly around the clock. Starting at six o’clock where I am O-L-D and landing in the embrace three o’clock and blessing of the compliment.
Truth be told, I am still struggling with returning the embrace.
Tell me about it. Age is always such a shock to me!
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