Moving And Growing

Moving is often a task I avoid at all costs. The mess of pack­ing, book­ing ele­va­tors, orga­niz­ing rides, and phys­i­cally shift­ing dirty boxes around becomes a lot more com­pli­cated than I care for. Being approached to help move by a close friend is a dif­fer­ent story, how­ever, as it becomes one of the few times that I can prove how much I’m will­ing to do for them.

It thus becomes a rather gal­va­niz­ing scene to arrive with a party of friends at a doorstep, ready to help bring some­one else into another phase in their life. This week­end was no excep­tion, when help­ing Pat and Jen set­tle into their new place, a newly built four bed­room house out in the west end. Through most of last week, Pat and Jen had already moved the small items them­selves, so the only things that were left were the bulky fur­ni­ture. There were only eight of us, but we were fin­ished before we knew it.

Pat and Jen paid us in beer, pizza, and wings, but given the fact that they had already done most of the work, we hardly deserved it. The rest of the day was spent play­ing Mario Power Tennis, Donky Konga, and table tennis.

Helping them mov­ing was a reminder of how we’re all grow­ing up. Getting mar­ried, get­ting old.

I once asked Darren, the only other male cousin with whom I share a Generation name, whether he thought we’d end up like our fathers, two broth­ers who also share their own. Our fathers who are moody, wasted old men who work too hard, and don’t get enough sleep. Before we real­ized it though, we had already turned into them, sur­viv­ing the days on mostly rest­less sleep.

Look at us now. Pat and Jen are engaged, start­ing their fam­ily here. Aaron and Karen are one block away.

And the cou­ples take home left­overs the way the par­ents do at all the Christmas par­ties dur­ing the holidays.