When I was in elementary school, probably fourth or fifth grade — that would have been the years 1963 to 1964, or 1964 to 1965, respectively — we had a lesson on calendars. I remember nothing about the lesson, but I do remember sitting at my little desk thinking ahead to the year 2000. Daydreaming, I thought of how, on Jan. 1, 2000, I would be 45 years old.

Two things occurred to me. One, it seemed like an awful long time away and two, I’d be really old. Forty-five. A worry for another day.

On that school day, my beautiful mother — flawless skin, black hair — though not really old, was definitely a grown-up. In her early 30s, she was a wife and a mother to three children. All day, every day, she did all that work, a lot, to keep her household running. Yes, she was definitely a grown-up.

With the year 2000 approaching, I was that 45-year-old and the world was worried.  Technological collapse, power outages, financial chaos, these Y2K fears, as they came to be known, were sparked by the question of what would happen when the calendar turned to 2000.

Early computer programmers had used a two-digit code for years to save computer memory. “99” stood for 1999. Would the year 1900 replace the year 2000 when the clock hit midnight?

I asked my daughter, “Do you think it will be the end of the world?”

I asked her this because in September of 1999, during Labor Day weekend to be exact, she had eloped. I asked her this because on Dec. 18 1999, my mother — her grandmother — had eloped. I asked her this because on Dec. 27 1999, William and I had, though small, a semi-traditional wedding.

“Three generations all married just before the Millennial.”  I asked her, “Are these events in our family signaling the end?”

She laughed, “No, Mom, I think we, all three of us, are the Millennial event.”

The world did not end. I watched on television as the countries in earlier time zones slid into the year 2000.

Though at times they seem to be drifting, the years rocket by. And now it is 15 years later. And now it is the year 2015. I am 60 years-old and retired after a long 30-plus year career. Then… who knew that leisure could make time dart by faster than hard work and endless schedules?

The game I now play with, and by, myself: What was my mother doing at my age? At my age, if she could marry and move some distance away from all of her family and make friends out of strangers and join in on new activities, surely I can continue to grow now that I’ve passed 70.

Surely, I can still learn another lesson in time.

Barbara A. Rouillard is a retired public school teacher who lives in Springfield.