In-between

We walk into the hip burger joint for dinner.  It's not like what we had when I was growing up.  Not exactly a greasy-spoon, and not fast food either.  We sit on stools which pull up to butcher block tables.

The television above us is playing Ferris Beuller's Day Off.  The volume is muted and a radio blares When Doves Cry by Prince.  A mother sits in front of us with her two teenage children.  A boy and a girl.  She mouths the words to the radio as her kids bury their heads in their mobile devices.  Her face is animated, and her body sways with the music.  I understand.  Because that's exactly how my body responds when I am transported back to my childhood.

The woman and her kids leave, and a young college-aged couple takes their place.  Their faces are fresh and soft.  She blushes as she coyly looks into his eyes.  He moves closer when they talk.  Their bodies almost touch.

The music on the radio has now changed.  Adam Levine is singing Lost Stars.  One of my current favorites.

The burger is dressed with chipotle ketchup.  The fries have more pepper than salt, and are served with blueberry mayonnaise.  The flavors are different than what I grew up with.  Yet I like them all the same.

The crowd is heterogeneous.  A group of older ladies huddles against a counter in the corner.  They talk softly and sip craft beers.  My wife and children, sitting beside me, have stopped talking.  They are too busy inhaling the delicious food in front of them.  A few young kids chat amiably at tables dispersed among the other restaurant goers.

And I realize that I am neither retro or new.   I am neither young nor old. I am caught somewhere in the middle.

In the great in-between.