"You're getting so big!" Nowadays, the only thing people think of when they hear this line is, "That's what she said." When you're a little kid, though, it means something completely different.When I was growing up, the only time my family went to church was once a year on Christmas Eve. We would always arrive an hour before the service began to assure a decent seat in the pews and to visit with the friends of my grandparents whom we hadn't seen since the previous year. It was during these little interactions that I would inevitably receive the "You're getting so big" line or some other variation of the same meaning.
These were people that my father knew growing up. You see, my grandparents were very social people and were always throwing or attending little gatherings for their group of friends. Because of this, my father grew to know his parents' friends quite well. When he grew up, met my mom, and had my sister and me, it was these people that were on hand to watch our family grow.
When I was much younger, my parents were more active in the social scene and they attended church on a more regular basis. But as the years progressed and they became busier with their own routines, they set church aside and turned it from a weekly tradition to an annual one. Because of the alterations to our weekly visits, the people that first met my sister and me as babies now saw us much more seldom; and that was if they happen to attend the same service we did. Sometimes, we wouldn't see these people for five years or more!
Anyway, with each annual visit, I would be reminded how big I was getting from people that I didn't remember meeting as a stroller-rider. Old people that stank of coffee and peppermints would lean down with their saggy, gray skin, smile their yellow teeth at me and deliver the line that I had no response to. Each year I became more and more cynical of social conventions and norms and this line simply resonated itself into my mind as one more thing to complain about when running into old "friends."
Here's the problem. A young couple give birth to a child. They are ecstatic that they have created life and added to their family and all of that nonsense. As soon as they come home from the hospital, they start showing the kid off to everyone they know. They take it to company picnics and Christmas parties. They bring it to Mass and social get togethers. Everywhere they go where they have the opportunity to display this sleeping bundle of joy, they bring it.
When a friend shows you his or her baby, you are forced by the unwritten rules of society to drool over it. You're supposed to croon on and on about how adorable and perfect the blob is. No matter how ugly you truly feel the kid is, you are supposed to use the word, "cute."
The kid, on the other hand, has absolutely no idea who you are; nor does he care. He may look at you with big, shining eyes and you may even get a smile from him, but he does not remember your face or the context in which you were first introduced. The next time you see the little bugger may be a month later or a year later. Heck, it might even be five years down the road when the kid is running around with muddy hands and chocolate on the front of his shirt.
You remember the first time you met. You remember how small he was and how he was nestled into his parents arms, but he doesn't have a clue who you are. He doesn't remember looking up at you. He doesn't remember anything about you, yet he has to hear about how big he has gotten. The first time he hears it is weird enough, but to have to hear it again every year after that from not one, but every stranger that knows his parents is too much. Think about it. A total stranger comes up to you and tells you how much you've grown. Isn't that a bit strange?
I guess the solution to the issue is to not tell the kid how different he looks. Tell him it's nice to see him again. Ask him about school. Comment on his shirt or the toy he's carrying. Don't tell him how much bigger he is. Think of something original to say.
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