Steve L. Edwards

Here it is my 42nd birthday now, yet sometimes it still amazes me to see a full grown face looking back at me from the mirror.  Squinting to see the writing around the rim of my Christmas watch at some point became a given rather than just a trick of the light.  Shrugging with a resigned “oh well” and a smile and leaving the watch face unread is now more usual than not.

What’s so strange is that behind my nose, ears and eyebrows (that have now suddenly decided that they too wanted to grow hair, most likely I suppose in a jealous attempt to one up my chin) is the same mind that made up my imaginary friend Cindy when I was barely able to talk.  I can still remember her telling me that if I went down the stairs I’d get hurt, I can still hear my grandmother’s voice saying she was leaving.  I think I was probably two or three at the time.

When I turn my better ear slightly towards the television now in order to hear it over the chaos that I’m so blessed with around my house, I’m turning the same ear that registered hearing my first Scottish accent in Glasgow Central when I was seven or so.

And yet, I am different.  I’ve been touched by experiences and by so many people that I don’t think I could count them.  I started life with awed wonder and joy that slowly turned to cautious fear, then to anger, then to strength, then to contentment and maybe full circle to awed wonder and joy.

Of course a part of us never grows up.  We are complex enough beings that we may remain both, and in my opinion, need a little of both, in order to make it down the home stretch of life.

So all of that is to say, that in answer to the question “have you changed much over the years?”  I would say some…yes.  I’m hopefully a little softer, a little nicer, a little more tender and a lot more considerate.

But if you look real close into my eyes, behind my thickening glasses, you’ll find the same old me, grinning back with a twinkle.