This week we took stepdaughters one and two out for dinner to celebrate the completion of the first quarter of the year for one, and the first college quarter ever, for the other. They were in fine feddle, picking through their Italian meal in a five star restaurant. As we were waiting for the waiter to bring our desert, I reached into my purse and brought out a cellophane bag of chocolates, with a jaunty red ribbon tied around it that said, "Ho Ho Ho" on it. One of my colleagues had given it to me earlier in the day and this seemed to be the perfect time to try one of the Dove chocolates.%20HO-HO-HO!.jpg)
The ribbon was a beautiful shade of red and had wire in the edges, so it could be bent into lovely curls. I unfurled it and stretched it out on the table."Look at this," I said, holding it up for the girls to see. "Isn't this a sweet little gift?"
Briana's eyes bulged and a look of horror crossed over her face. "Did a student give you that?" she asked cautiously.
"No. Another teacher did."
She regarded the ribbon for a moment and added, "What an awful thing to give someone!"
Now I was surprised. "Why?" I asked. "It was really nice of her. I love chocolate."
"Ho Ho Ho?" she asked, slowly, her voice pregnant with suggestion.
I scrunched my forehead, thinking. What on earth could be wrong?
Sarah rolled her eyes. "You dork, Briana."
Briana drew back with a suddenly flushed face. "Sarah, you don't give someone a gift that says you're a 'ho on it."
Leaping across the generation gap, I finally understood what she saying. The only 'ho she knew about was from rap music (ho = a crass reference to a woman of sorts).
Oh my word.
"Are you kidding? Santa Claus says "Ho, ho, ho!"" I remonstrated. "There's nothing wrong with a ribbon that says "Ho, ho, ho!""
"Like you don't know that," Sarah elbowed Briana and looked away with disgust.
The conversation disolved into nothingness as we savored the chocolates. When the waiter came a few moments later with our tiramisu and chocolate mystery desert, "ho, ho, ho" was not on the radar screen. For the girls. But I thought about it the rest of the evening.
I am now on the other side of the great generation divide. I am officially middle-aged. Given my options, I don't think I'd rather be anywhere else.
1 comment:
I'm struggling with that concept these days...accepting and embracing the fact that I am 43, that I am almost completely estranged from the current generation (and it seems like yesterday I was so close!). I am grateful for the wisdom in my head and in my heart - but each time I look in the mirror, I am shocked. Every time I realized that my skin is so obviously aging - especially in comparison to that of my teenaged daughters'...getting old sucks in many ways.
But I don't think I'd rather be anywhere else.
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