“I obviously haven’t reached your level of maturity yet,” declared Dear Don.

“That’s what I’m talking about, throw it out there, take responsibility. The first step towards recovery is ownership,” I encouraged, sounding a lot like Dr. Phil for a moment there.

The conversation had started out innocently enough. Dear Don and I both keep a small pittance out of our paychecks each week for personal things. We were discussing the amounts we had accumulated recently and I had him beat by about $25.00.

That in itself was unusual because I keep out a much smaller portion than he does and usually spend mine by week’s end. Dear Don on the other hand will tuck his away in some discreet place in his office and let it gather until he has a great deal saved. Well, it’s a lot to him anyway.

He was surprised that I had been saving money and was more surprised at the amount.

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked.

“Well, the majority will go to Ty (the oldest grandson) for Christmas and the remainder to Zac (the youngest),” I explained. (Lest you think I am partial to one child over another, we have already bought presents for the youngest and the oldest always wants money over gifts.)

“What are you going to do with yours?” I asked already knowing the answer.

“There are several CDs I want and I still want to get a couple of concert DVDs. You know the usual stuff,” he replied.

“Yes, I know you well,” I agreed, “I needn’t have even asked.”

And then he followed with the maturity comment.

But I must digress a moment here because actually neither of us has reached an acceptable level of maturity on some points. His is discretionary money among other things and mine would be control issues among many other things.

I have always admired a childlike quality in a man. Someone who can be joyful and innocent with a certain naiveté about them. A man not afraid to be himself, to be playful and carefree, to see the quirky, anything is possible side of life that is most often seen in and by children.

Childishness is a whole different ball game. I don’t care for selfish, whiny, someone-took-my-sandpail type of personality. You know the type, everything is about them and they often have a myopic view of life. A view that is at best arms length.

Dear Don and I have enjoyed a playful, easygoing relationship for nearly thirty years. It works for us. When he calls me an idiot, I don’t take it personally because more than likely he’s right. When I try to tell him what and how to do everything I only have the best of intentions and he knows that. In fact he pays very little attention to most things I say. Perhaps that is the key to our longevity.

So if Dear Don doesn’t feel he’s reached my level of maturity yet then maybe he doesn’t have quite as far to go as he once thought. But let’s keep that to ourselves for now, can we?

You get the picture.

(Contact Sherry at sherryhopkins@bellsouth.net)