On Saturday, Nov. 4 1972, I turned 18 years old. I specifically remember that it was Saturday because I was home from college for the weekend. I specifically remember that it was a Saturday because while I was standing at the kitchen counter, Dad and his friend Durf were sitting at the kitchen table. Durf was actually Mr. Durfee, Gordon Durfee, but everyone called him Durf. He was married to Phyllis. Every Saturday night, the Durfees came over to play cards or to go out to the movies with Mom and Dad.

That Saturday night, Dad turned to Durf and said, “Barbara turns 18 today.”  I smiled and Durf responded with, “You don’t say.  Wow, 18, to be 18 again and know what I know today.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Dad said.

I kept the smile on my face but was thinking, what could they possibly know that I don’t already know?

On Christmas Eve, spent with my brother’s twins — Madison and Colin — both now 21 years old, when I told that story, (we had been speaking of how old the twins are getting), everyone kind of snickered. Even the twins, though still young, recognized the arrogance of youth that I had displayed. I shook my head at how superior I felt all those years ago.

After dinner, while Cheryl — the twins’ mother — was loading the dishwasher, Madison sat with me at the table. She said to me, “All kidding aside, over the years, what did you learn that you would tell your 18 year-old self?” I laughed, Madison added, “Auntie, I really want to know.”           

“Let’s see.”  I paused to think and then I said, “First,” as I looked at my stunningly beautiful young niece, her skin flawless, her hair healthy and shiny, “I would have appreciated how young and beautiful I was. Believe it or not I was.”

Madison interrupted me to say, “I believe it.”

I added, “Not to take advantage of the power beauty gives you, but to never have sold myself short. To know I was worth it, which would have given me more confidence to stick up for myself. Yeah, that’s a big one I would have stuck up for myself more. I would have believed in myself more. I wouldn’t have second-guessed myself so much. I wouldn’t have allowed so many men to have bullied me — remember it was the very early 70s, when men were thought to be smarter than women.”  Madison snickered.  My sister-in-law, still at the sink, listening, repeatedly nodded her head in agreement.

I continued with, “I would have taken better care of my health. I would have eaten better, exercised more, never have been a smoker. When you’re 18 you can get away with all that stuff, but not at 71.” 

Madison will be graduating from college next December.  I said to her, “Save your money.  When you are working full time, now and then skip the pizza and put that money in tax shelters for your retirement. I’m being metaphorical, but I know you know what I mean.  Because, before you know it, you will be of retirement age and you will have plenty of money to enjoy in that retirement. It is amazing how little people really need. Me, I need two things now — health and time — and though money can’t buy either, it sure helps make life easier and more fun.”

My niece looked at me and I finished with, “Enjoy your friends, enjoy your work, do what nurtures your soul. For me, it’s my French lessons and my writing. Oh, yeah, have friends of all ages — old and young, the younger friends will keep you young, the older ones can still teach you.”

We both started to laugh at “the older ones can still teach you.”  I said, “Guess I learned that you can always learn. Guess I learned that I didn’t know everything at 18.” 

In my mind’s eye, I saw, once again, that beautiful 18-year-old woman standing at a kitchen counter. I smiled at how she absolutely believed herself to be so arrogantly superior. 

Barbara A. Rouillard is an award-winning writer from Springfield.