Where are you right now?  If you're my friend on Facebook, you might have posted your current location as your status.  Or, you might tell the world what you ate for breakfast, which TV shows you watched, what thoughts you have about the new iPhone, or who is driving you crazy at the moment.

But, heaven forbid, you are a parent with a child over the age of 18 who is in college, and/or is in need of medical attention.  Suddenly, steel doors slam in your face the moment you try to get any information on your child.  It doesn't matter that you are paying the tuition/health insurance/doctor bills for said child and are currently living in the poorhouse due to the bills for said child.  Suddenly, 18-year-olds are full adults.  I am not including those in the military or those who are completely paying their way at this stage of their lives.  No, I am talking about the majority of 18-year-olds who are still willingly being supported by Mom and Dad because these days, it would be nearly impossible for them to pay their way on $7.50 an hour when most colleges cost about 10 times more than they did when I went to school (and NO, I won't say when that was) - and wages certainly haven't kept up with that kind of inflation.

You may have gone with your child to all college orientations, parent weekends and conferences.  But, unless your child signs off that you can find out their grades, the college erects impenetrable forcefields around their information that cannot be breached.  But of course, they always manage to find you when it's time to pay those pesky, ball-breaking bills.  Then, suddenly, you exist.  You are wanted.  Really wanted.

Same with the doctor.  You can even be with your child at the doctor's office, clinic, emergency room (fill in the blank depending on your own experience here).  Then the bill comes and, for whatever reason, it's addressed to your child.  It's well over three figures, approaching four-figure territory.  Your child has exactly $15.94 in the bank.  You call the doctor's office to let them know they need to submit the bill to the insurance company, and that you were actually with your child at the time of the illness/incident, so there is no need for all the secrecy. 

The scenario plays out as follows:

 "Are you the patient?" you are asked in a very suspicious tone. 

"Uh, no, I'm the mother.  I just pay the bills," you reply meekly. 

"We can only discuss this bill with the patient," you are told in an almost-hostile tone. 

"Well, good luck with that if you want to get paid," you reply somewhat snarkily. "Because the CHILD who you are calling to pay this bill doesn't even have enough money to pay for a fancy dinner at a nice restaurant. And, unless you can text, good luck trying to reach my child since this child does not talk on the phone anymore."

 "We DO want to get paid and we must talk to the patient or we will repossess your car, your home, and your life," the voice threatens. 

"Please do," you plead.  "Take it all.  Take my bills, car payments, college payments - take whatever you want.  Please!"

SLAM!  BZZZZZ - the line has gone dead.

Two days later another bill from the doctor shows up in your mailbox - and now they're charging interest.

Somewhere along the line, common sense was tossed out the window.  Yes, if your 18-year-old is paying their way through life, you don't have a right to try to sort out their medical bills or college issues unless they want your help.  But, if they are still on your health insurance, if you are the one paying the bills - and, I'm not saying I necessarily want to know the details of the doctor visit, I'm talking finances here - I feel that if you need to call to straighten out insurance issues or work out a payment plan, why the heck won't these people talk to you?  I know, I know.  It's private.

I am one of the lucky ones.  My parents still live in the house that I grew up in.  These days, I know that's a fairly unusual thing.  People tend to move from place to place, city to city, state to state.  I have certainly done that multiple times.  But I've always had that safety net, knowing that my childhood home was still there for me to visit anytime I wanted to.  I've watched friends' parents move, relatives move on - and sadly, pass on -  from homes where I spent a great deal of my childhood, with the circle of familiar places growing smaller all the time.  And, while both the interior and exterior of our home has changed over the years, the touchstone has not only been the physical house, but the home and neighborhood that evoke so many memories.  Every time I come home to visit, I walk through the familiar streets, the memories of childhood friends encircling me at every turn.  I walk several blocks to the shopping center which has also evolved over the years, yet is still so comfortable and familiar.  My children grew up visiting this house at least once a year, making their own memories,adding to the stories that make up the fabric of our family.

And now, my parents are moving on.  They are moving to a place that will provide them a wonderful new life, filled with new friends and activities and security that my sister and I are grateful for.  As members of the sandwich generation, we are thrilled that our parents will no longer have to battle the elements during every harsh winter, worrying that they will be snowed in or worse, that they will attempt to shovel their way out of the house during the frequent snowstorms that are a given throughout New York winters.  It gives us great relief to know that they will be even more active, with access to movies, theater, numerous activities, exercise classes and more, making life more pleasurable than before.  And, to be honest, with neither of us living nearby, it is really a mindsaver to know that they will now be in a place that offers all kinds of assistance, should they ever need it.

So, I find myself with mixed feelings about this saying goodbye, because I know that most likely, I won't ever go back home again.  Once my parents are settled in their new home, there won't be any reason to go to the old neighborhood when we come to visit.  Because everyone else I knew there has moved on.  Although I was there twice this summer, I didn't realize that the house would sell as quickly as it did (a very good thing, but in this market, extremely surprising!).  As with so many things in life, I thought I would have time to adjust, to say my goodbyes.

I am so happy for my parents and the new life that awaits them.  And I am exceedingly grateful that this move is a happy move, precipitated by them wanting to be part of all the things that are offered in what will soon be their new home.  But it is the closing of a very long chapter in our lives, and I am aware it's time to turn the page.  To start a new book, with new chapters and new memories ahead - and I know how lucky I am to have the chance to be part of the ever-changing story of my family.

Will you leave this world a better place?  That is a question we should ask ourselves on a daily basis.  But particularly today, on the 10-year anniversary of the day that shattered the world that was.  Yes, our world has changed drastically since that awful day and we can never go back to where we were on September 10th of 2001.  But the question is, have we actually changed?

Do we work to make this world better than we found it?  Or do we consistently give in to petty differences, envy, frustration and avarice?  It's a pretty scary world these days on many fronts. We have been off-balance since 9/11, never on a steady footing.  And the economy has made it impossible for anyone to feel secure about anything these days.  But when you listen to the survivors of that terrible day, those who wonder why they were chosen to live when so many died, to a person they say that they are looking for their purpose in life, the reason they are still here.  And they know that part of that purpose is to make this world a better place. 

So, how do we do that?  Certainly not by the travesty we have seen in our Congress with nonsensical infighting and name-calling, better suited for an elementary-school playground than among leaders bestowed with the privilege of representing the people of our great nation.  They need to set the example for us, to show us how to rise above our differences and realize that we all have the same goals, even if we have different ideas of how to achieve them.  How do we teach our children these life lessons, if all they see are adults choosing infantile behavior over the mature examples of compromise and civility?

As individuals, we need to cherish each day we are given, since no one is guaranteed tomorrow.  We need to look at each day as a gift, which it is, and try to do what we can to, at the very least, not add to the burdens of our fellow travelers, and if possible, ease those burdens the best we can.  To bring a smile to someone sorely in need of cheer.  To give a hug to someone who feels alone in the world.  To forgive not only others, but also forgive ourselves our failings and strive to do our best. 

We live in a wonderful country, filled with amazing people and we need to remember that.  The events of 9/11 should be a reason to reflect and honor both those who died, and those who survived.  We must never forget.  And by living lives of  honor and compassion, we will ensure that we will make our world a better place than we found it, not only for us, but for generations to come.  Let's roll.

(This is a reprint of a column I wrote several years ago, but it is just as relevant today as when I first wrote it and for my first post, I wanted to put this out there again - please let me know your thoughts)

Do you remember the days when people actually looked their age? When we think back to our grandparents, memories include family dinners, rounded figures and…gray hair. Gasp! Yes, women of a certain age actually had gray or even white hair. Sometimes blue hair as well. But back then, seeing a woman in her sixties with dark hair was as rare as, well, seeing a 60-year-old woman today with gray hair.

Where did all the gray-haired ladies go? They went the way of record players, black and white TV and using baby oil as suntan lotion. Think about it. When was the last time you saw a woman who had gray hair? Men have it so much easier. As they age, they become more distinguished. When their hair starts turning gray, they become silver foxes. When our hair grays, we become invisible.

Look at the TV and movie landscapes. Actresses past the age of 30 are terrified of disappearing off the map completely or being relegated to doting mother or catty mother-in-law roles. They firm up, tone up, slim down, spray on tans and secretly meet with their plastic surgeons in the hope that no one will be able to discover their true age. Think of the actresses in their sixties and seventies with jet-black hair or peroxide blond hair that you have recently seen in the media. Now, try to come up with one actress of the same generation who you have seen with gray hair. Several months ago, one of the morning talk shows had a short discussion on this subject and the name of the late Jessica Tandy came up as an example of a lovely actress who was unafraid to show her true age. She was a beautiful and talented lady, and also, it seems, the last of her kind.

The baby boomers and subsequent generations are fixated on youth. It's as if we can fool ourselves and everyone else into believing that we are eternally young. Hence, we refuse to age, both physically and emotionally. Look on the shelves of any bookstore and, along with half the shelves bulging with diet books, you will find multitudes of books on the subject of staying younger, looking younger and feeling younger. There is nothing inherently wrong in wanting to be healthy and strong for as long as possible. But, let's face reality. Once you've hit your forties, you can no longer be considered young (unless you are running for president). For a harsh dose of reality, hang out with real teenagers and see what they think of your feeble attempts to pass as 'with it.' (I just dated myself with that expression, didn't I?)

Why do we punish women for daring to get old? Once we are past child-bearing age, our societal worth plummets along with our own self-esteem. We try to convince ourselves that we are happy this way; that we no longer have to worry about being perfect or stylish or beautiful. I get humorous emails almost daily from various friends reminding me of how lucky we are to be the age we are now because we are liberated and free to let it all just hang out. That we can speak our minds without the fear of repercussions. But if no one is paying attention to us, who is actually listening when we spout off?

I admit that I am caught up in the grip of the youth obsession as much as anyone else. I panic when gray hairs reappear in the salon-created hair color of my youth. I groan when I am shopping at the department store and realize that in order to retain any shred of dignity, I cannot even think of trying on the styles that I find cute and stylish as they are only suited for my teenage daughter. I cringe every time I look in the mirror and wonder whose face is staring back at me, as it most certainly clashes with my own much-younger perception of myself.

We are a society where image is king. When it is discovered that the emperor has no clothes, the spin doctors frantically go to work to convince us that wearing no clothes is the newest thing. Unfortunately, the newest thing gets old very quickly. Unless they manage to hide the gray.

Copyright Nancy Machlis Rechtman, all rights reserved