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Friday, April 17, 2009

When One Stops Counting

It was not long ago that birthdays were a big deal. Every one seemed to have significance, if for no other reason that being one step closer to a milestone.

At 15, you can officially get you learner's permit, leading to a driver's license at 16.

17 was a bit of a nothing year, but there was so much surrounding it, its own significance was irrelevant. At 18, there was voting, being able to buy lottery tickets, porn, and cigarettes; high school graduation was in there, too. 19 and 20 were not very interesting, but marked a transition out of the teenage years.

21 is big for obvious reasons.

What is there after that? Renting a car at 25? The transition from 20's to 30's?

I bring this up because I was asked my age today, and could not immediately respond. I had to do the math.

1976... 2009... haven't had my birthday yet this year... or have I? Nope, not yet... 2009-1976 = 33, no birthday yet... - 1... I'm 32... I think.

This now becomes one of those moments when I realize just how old I am.

2 comments:

Trevor said...

One might even say that 17's significance was... insignificant. I said might! You, of course, didn't.


And 21? Oh, how I loved being able to play a card game other than war!

To your point, though:
don't underestimate 33. That was the year I first got to see (and coach {and participate in}) a live sex show in my very own bedroom. Not that, at 32, you would know anything about that...

Also, 33 is the year I finally found a man I could love in every way. Luckily he came with indoor plumbing and I can pass "her" off as my "girlfriend" with none the wiser. Even "her" parents are convinced.

I still love you and Pedro, but not in every way. I'm confident you understand.

Anonymous said...

Well. I was just going to say that 32's not a bad age, and at least you're not as old as the Weevil, but it seems he beat me here. And he's much more clever and amusing than I am.