I remember the first time I saw the movie Fiddler on the Roof. First, the oldest daughter goes to her father and says, no, she does not want to marry the butcher, which is an arranged marriage, as is the custom, the tradition. She would like his permission to marry the tailor, instead. Her father rants and raves, and at first refuses, reminding her about the tradition of marriages arranged by matchmakers and approved by parents. No, no she cannot. But, he thinks about how much the young couple love each other and how maybe it would be all right, and he relents, going against the long-standing customs and traditions of their Jewish community.
Then, the next daughter comes to him and says she is going to marry the itinerant teacher. “You do not have my permission,” says the father. “We’re not asking your permission,” she says. “We’re going to marry.” He rants and raves, and at first refuses, reminding her about the tradition of parental permission. No, no she cannot. But he thinks about how much the young couple love each other, and how maybe it would be all right, and he relents, again going against the customs and traditions.
His next daughter comes to him and says she is in love with a Christian boy and they want to marry. NOOOOO!! She cannot do such a thing!!! It’s unheard of. It’s wrong. She cannot. Then, he thinks about how much he loves his precious daughter and how maybe it would be … NO NO NO NO NO!! “NO. You cannot do this. I will not allow it. If you do this, you are dead to me! Leave me! Leave me!”
I reacted strongly to her grief. “No, Papa, no. Don’t send me away! Don’t break our bond!” That was my reaction, at the first and some later viewings.
A few years later, we went to see the movie again, and took our kids, school-agers at the time. I watched that third-daughter scene, and again felt the grief. But my thoughts were, “No, Tevye, no! Don’t send her away. You’ll regret it if you sever this relationship. You’ll surely regret this breach.”
I realized I had started thinking about this situation from the parents’ viewpoint, instead of the daughter’s. What does this shift mean? I must be … growing older.
As a Texas girl, I watched lots of football. Junior High games on Thursday afternoons. High School games on Friday nights (yes, with Lights). College games on Saturday afternoons. Televised professional games on Sunday afternoons. Many times, games would be tense. Close games might hinge on a desperate play, an important tackle, a last-second field goal attempt. I felt the anxiety of the players, and whispered along with the passers, the runners, the kickers: “Let this work. Let this work. Let this work.”
Then, one Sunday afternoon, I was watching a game, and the kicker was warming up on the sideline, with seconds left in the game, ready to attempt a lengthy field goal. “Wow,” I thought. “His mother must be biting her nails to the quick.”
EEKKK!!! When did this happen?!? Am I really so much older than the average PROFESSIONAL football player that I’m thinking like his Mother?!? (Actually, yes, I was. It was also startling to me that retiring professional football players were younger than I.)
shall grow like a cedar of Lebanon.
Planted in the house of the Lord,
they shall flourish in the courts of our God.
They shall bear fruit even in old age,
they will stay fresh and green,
my rock, in whom there is no wrong.”
Growing older doesn’t mean growing less. It means growing different. Not only do I do things in a different way, I think about things in a different way. I learn things, but they’re built on a different platform than someone 10 or 20 or 50 years younger than I. No matter how hard I try to drag myself into the twenty-first century, my mid-twentieth century beginnings sometimes weigh me down, a lot. But, really. I have a blog. I have written and posted an essay. Every. Single. Friday. For over a year. I flourish in the courts of our God, bearing fruit even in old age, staying fresh and green.
I find I am also more content with the way I look at things as I grow older. Some thins are different than when I was younger, but many things are the same ( just not as harsh).