I’m not allowed to tell people my mother’s age. Her birthday was last week, and I know how old she is but I won’t be telling anyone.

When I was meeting new friends in college, we were getting to know each other better and talking about our families. I realized some of my friend’s grandparents were as old as my aunts and uncles. I told my mom about this and her only response was, “You didn’t tell them how old I am, did you?”

Of course, I had told them, not thinking it really mattered since they hadn’t met her. I knew growing up my mother was a proper Southern lady who never spoke about her age, but it wasn’t something I thought extended into my adulthood.

Since that day I haven’t told a soul her age. Even when her coworkers begged and pleaded for me to tell them one year as they tried to celebrate her birthday, I refused.

I don’t know why she is so sensitive about her age. It should just be something that defines you. In my eyes there is nothing negative about the amount of years someone has spent on Earth, but thoughts on age come up in all kinds of conversations.

One of my cousins graduated from college Saturday. Because of a change in major, being a talent musician who plays a lot of gigs and a full time job, it has taken him a little more than four years to receive his diploma.

He’s only three years younger than me and I like to think of him as my brother. Every year on his birthday he laments the years gone by. He wearily proclaims how old he has become, not thinking about the fact his younger sister is literally the only family member younger than him and he’s not really old at all.

The thing he is really sad about is that he’s not a child anymore. Or, at least that’s my own self diagnosis of his age realization. It’s not that he’s old, it’s that he’s not young anymore. Such a pity we don’t realize how well we have it until it’s over. Naps, games, parents catering to your needs; it’s all gone now, and we know it’s never coming back, at least not like it was.

However, at Christmastime we have the distinct pleasure of turning back into children. At Christmas, we can have that childlike joy. We put trees in our homes and lights on ours houses and shop for those we love. At Christmas, we are all children again, and it’s OK. It’s OK to enjoy the magic of the season.

I’ve seen a lot of people lament after the days of Koestler’s Bakery here in Vicksburg. I never got to visit this place considering it closed in 1975, but many Vicksburg natives think back to the bakery’s Christmas Tree Lane holiday decorations fondly, wishing it was still around today.

A new bakery is in the works to come to downtown Vicksburg soon. It may not be Koestler’s, but it could bring new memories for the next generation looking for something to reminisce about warmheartedly.

Growing up is hard. It’s hard when you realize things will never be the same as they once were. Stress, pressure and working ourselves to the bone for a paycheck is all we have to look forward to, but the truth is we should be happy with what we have.

Maybe we can’t be children anymore, but we have to remember to appreciate the present. We can’t obsess about what we’ve lost, and we can’t worry about what is to come because if we do, it’ll never end. We’ll continue to miss the present and only see it in the rearview mirror, never really appreciating where we are when we’re there. As they say, life is about the journey and not the destination.