When I'm really super old

I don't really know what to post today. I had a totally epic idea to bitch and moan about the lack of good trans literature, but I got about a sentence into that and lost steam. And then I had another idea, but then I forgot. There may be a few more forgotten ideas that I've forgotten that I've forgotten in there, as well.

I've eventually settled on answering a question that my coworker asked me: How do you picture yourself when you're really super old?

Answer: I have no clue.

Reason for choosing this subject: ...velociraptor?

I can only assume that by the time I'm really super old, I'll either be in a government containment facility having a variety of tests run on me, back on my home planet, or dead because someone got fed up and put a hit out on me.

If my coworker wondered whether or not I see myself as male when I'm really super old, the answer is yes. Circumstances allowing, I would much rather sit on a porch in a rocking chair playing with my dentures and knitting with the assurance in my mind that I am, in fact, a man. I just can't see myself doing that in a dress. Well...okay, I could knit in drag, but it would be strictly DRAG and not me identifying as female.

If that made any sense.

In all seriousness, I would love to live to be an old man. My primary motivator for this, oddly enough, is the prospect of grandchildren. I'm one of those weird guys who wants to get married and have a bunch of kids. Granted, I have about eight thousand places I want to travel to, preferably without the guilt of having left my child(ren) behind in the care of a relative or babysitter. But travel aside, the prospect of having a permanent partner and children and grandchildren is a huge motivator for me.

I think people take my desire for a family as another "girly" thing about me. Because only women want families? Yeah, that makes sense...

I come from a HUGE family. My 19-year-old brother and I are both adopted. We have different sets of biological parents, but we've known our biological families since we were born. Our birth families are both considered part of our ginormous family.

Our father is also one of seven children, so on his side of the family, we can't have a holiday gathering in a residence that will actually comfortably contain all of us.

My desire for a big family doesn't stem from some deep internal part of me that has its maternal instincts kicking in. Rather, it comes from the fact that I was raised in the midst of a giant crowd of people, and that's what I'm used to.

My 19-year-old brother commented a few days ago that our parents' house is one of those that's always full, even when actual relatives are scarce. In retrospect, this is true. I don't live at my parents' house and I still spend half my waking time there, and I spend the night at least once a week (so I might as well move back in anyway, right?). Every time I go back home, there's somebody there. If not parents and/or siblings, it's an uncle who stopped by to borrow one of my dad's tools, a girl who lives down the road who wants company, a friend who came over to share a glass of wine, fellow actors who have taken over the pole barn for set building, a customer of my dad's who has been welcomed to help him/her/zirself to the vegetables in our garden, cousins come to enjoy our swimming pool, or family friends who have stopped by just because they were in the neighborhood.

Words can't express the joy I've felt, growing up surrounded by so many wonderful people. I love having such a variety of friends and family who like to spend time with me and mine, so much so that our house is NEVER EMPTY. We are at the point that we don't bother to lock our doors, because we're too lazy to make that many spare keys and nobody's going to break in when there's always people there, anyway. I think that that's mightily impressive.

So, like I said, this isn't maternal instinct kicking in. This isn't me being girly or effeminate. It's me loving the way I was raised and intending to keep it that way, even when I'm an old man knitting on his porch in a dress.