I had a bit of an epiphany the other day.

My wife thought it might have been a touch of wind brought on by the curry we had for dinner the night before but I was sure it was an epiphany.

Just to be sure, I grabbed the good old Macquarie Dictionary.

Epiphany: a revelation of the basic nature of something; a perception of some essential truth.

There, I told you it was an epiphany.

Alright, it could have been a touch of wind too but what’s important is that suddenly the natural order of the world and my place in it was clearer than ever before.

You see, I suddenly realised I had reached that time in my life which could fairly accurately be called “middle-age”.

Not the Middle Ages you idiot ... middle-age.

I’m 45 years old (yes dear, I know I’m closer to 46 but I’ll cling to 45 for now – if that’s alright with you) which is not young and not old.

It’s sort of in the middle.

And I’m quickly discovering that it is a period of great responsibility.

I thought it would be a time when all my responsibilities could be dumped like the last dirty nappy of your youngest child.

But no.

What it really means is that you have to be responsible for everyone – your kids (because they’re young) and older people (because they’re not).

I came to understand our place in life when we were at Brisbane Airport, dropping off an older friend who was flying down to visit family in Newcastle.

We do these good deeds with no ulterior motive.

We are just good people.

Okay, my wife is a good person.

Personally, I cling to the slim hope that one of our older friends will have secret millions stashed away and no known heirs to leave them to.

But what are the chances of that?

Anyway, our friend is a widow in her early 70s, with a couple of grown daughters and a handful of grandchildren.

She’s had three husbands and travelled the world without too many hassles before meeting us.

I paint this picture of her so that you can imagine the reaction when my wife escorted her to a seat near the boarding gate a good two hours before her flight, checked she was comfortable and then asked “now Betty, do you need to go to the toilet?”

I’m pretty sure Betty has managed to “go pee-pee” without our help plenty of times in her life and the look on her face suggested she felt much the same.

But to her credit she kept a straight face and said “No dear, I’ll go just before I get on the plane”.

It was only the natural mothering instincts coming out in my wife, but it made me realise we are at that age where we are sort of responsible for everyone around us.

We left Betty perched on a seat, with a clear line of sight to the boarding gate, the toilets and the coffee shop and strict instructions on how to use all of them.

I had a gentle shot at my wife as we left the terminal.

“I’m sorry but I’ll always be a mother – it’s just the way things are,” she shot back.

And she’s right, she spends half her life worrying about people older than us and the other half organising the kids who are into their 20s and quite old enough to take care of themselves.

Honestly, if we had a pet in the house I wouldn’t get a look-in at all.

So that is now our lot in life – carers and nurturers for everyone around us.

Which is okay, I guess.

As long as everybody realises that I’m just along for the ride.

As I told Betty before we left her sitting in the airport lounge – “As far as I’m concerned it’s every man for himself.

“I personally don’t care if you pee at the boarding gates and try to order a coffee in the toilets, you’re on your own.”

She was still laughing when we left her.

Or having convulsions – it’s hard to tell sometimes.

I wonder if she made her flight okay...