Younger and Older Self: A conversation worth having

By Jim Bradford, Chapter Co-Chair at Mission Trail Middle School for Father’s Club

We met on a Tuesday morning. It was summertime and school was only a month away. I arrived first and found a table near the back and waited for the other me to arrive. I was meeting my 15-year-old self to talk about, well, about anything.

Younger me hadn’t arrived yet, so I ordered two Diet Cokes for us. (Nearly 40 years later and I still don’t drink coffee.) He arrived about 10 minutes later wearing a T-shirt, shorts and running shoes. He smelled of chlorine because he had just gotten done with swim team practice.

Present-day me was dressed in standard weekday attire. Dress pants and a button-up. The office would be my second stop of the day.

We started talking about baseball first. Younger me had gone to the Royals game the night before and was happy with the win, but not thrilled about the seven-game lead the California Angels had in the division. I just smiled. No info about the future. That was part of the deal. Just a conversation about life.

Man, it was killing me, though. I couldn’t tell younger me that the Royals would be World Series champs in just three months. Or that they wouldn’t win again until 2015. I couldn’t mention the Chiefs Super Bowl wins in 2019, 2022 and 2023, either. Fifteen-year-old me needed to find out about those on his own.

Then, the questions from younger me came fast and furious.

• What should I be doing?
• How do I know what I’m doing is right?
• When does it get easier?
• What’s it like getting older?
• Why is your hair so grey?

I just smiled again. I told my younger self about how difficult growing up is. Not like double overtime in a basketball game difficult or running a 5K exhaustion difficult, but just difficult. I told him to continue doing what he was doing. Work hard over the final weeks of the swim season. Go for a couple more runs to get conditioned for soccer tryouts in August. Try to enjoy – as much as he could – sacking groceries at Bob’s IGA. It’s not as bad as he might think. Or, I thought. Well, whatever.

I told him that he was doing everything exactly how he was supposed to be doing it. It does get easier, but easier isn’t necessarily better. Man, trying to explain that one was tough. I told him that getting older is amazing. A gift. And the hair, well, at least it’s still there.

But then I got into the weeds.

I explained that the journey is the best part. The less he knew about his future, the better. What really had him on the edge of his seat, hanging on every word, was what we’re doing with this group called Father’s Club. I explained how engaged we are with kids at both the middle school and high school level. I told him that parents are now an integral part of what is happening at these schools. And kids love it. They really do!

I tried to tell him about social media. It was hard to find the words. I warned him about the pitfalls of having our lives on display all day, every day. Younger me smiled and looked at me like I was speaking a different language, so I tapped the brakes. I could tell it was a bit much. I told him that times have changed. That as a society we have to rely on each other a bit more and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. It’s OK to talk about the things that are bothering us. It’s good to find a friend to vent to or let know you need some help.

When I told him about the support that parents offer their kids, my younger self’s eyes lit up. It was like an epiphany. Not that parents weren’t supportive in the summer of 1985, it’s just that there was a different relationship back then. I told him what a fist bump was. He loved the idea and couldn’t wait to be the guy that hastened the arrival of the fist bump in Olathe when he would be starting his sophomore year at Olathe North in less than a month.

Sadly, it was time for us to part ways.

We both needed to get to work. One needed gas and arcade money. The other had to pay the mortgage, bills and buy food for the family. It was bittersweet to part ways, but the more he discovered on his own the better. His wide-eyed innocence floored me, but his tucked away confidence picked me back up. It also reinvigorated me, knowing that whatever we’re doing at schools truly can make a difference.

I shook his hand and bid him farewell. Right before leaving, I turned back and said, “Hey. Amazon. Remember that word.” I know, I know. I couldn’t help myself. I had to give him a tiny stock tip!