I really don't like being around my oldest nephew. He's immature and noisy, like a puppy who has yet to grow into his big paws, but he's nearly 25-freaking-years-old and it's just a bit much, you know?
He's very good to and for my mom, his grandma, so I'm glad he's spending as much time with her as he can before he goes off for his four years with the USN.
I feel guilty because he finds me so fascinating and so much fun and he likes arguing with me. But I do not like arguing with him and sometimes I would like to finish a sentence without being baited or disputed. Everything -- from where the Cubs will play in 2013 to Beatles' history -- was an "argument." He thinks it's funny and cute. I think he's an ass.
I feel guilty feeling this way. He is the entire family's pride and joy, ready to go serve his country, and I just want him to shut-the-fuck-up for one blessed moment.
What's worse, my younger nephew -- age 12 -- things his older cousin hangs the moon and joins the fray before I change the subject. "Well, Ga-al," he chimes in judgmentally, contributing something very 12-year-old-ish so naturally I never disputed it. He's a kid, after all.
I couldn't wait to get out of there. I know, shame on me. But if, today, I get through the day without speaking to anyone about anything, and not being disagreed with or corrected, I will be grateful.
These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 65!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live just outside Chicago, the best city in the world. I'm an aunt and a friend. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
It might be the age. I hate to admit it, but I was kind of like that when I was your nephew's age.
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