Most years I don’t have a problem with turning another year older. It is just another day. This year though I’ve had a few reminders that I am old – or at least that is how some people see me.
I was talking to a girl in class today and realized that all of my daughters are likely older than most of the students in the class. This girl asked me how old my daughters were. When I answered a girl across the room jaw dropped. I don’t know if she thought people old enough to have adult children actually came back to school or if she thought I didn’t look old enough to have kids that age. I’m going with the latter because it makes me feel better.
In class we are reading all these stories and I am noticing a definite difference in attitude towards writing and characters in the younger people in the class. I definitely have a different set of reference points. Their idea of funny is the Simpsons and South Park. My idea of funny is Lucille Ball, Bill Cosby, and Bob Hope. Okay and you could probably throw in the Stooges, Abbott and Costello, and the Marx brothers but to be fair – they are getting a bit to slap stick for my tastes.
Sometimes I feel like I have a neon sign over my head saying OLD PERSON. I’m normally okay with that because I’ve earned my status – I’ve lived my life, my way for the most part.
Every year I write in my birthday journal around my birthday. Some years I struggle with what to write about. This year I won’t. I have a pretty clear idea of how I want to talk about attitudes towards age. It should be interesting… at least to me…
Wednesday is my birthday. I’ll be 12 or 48 depending on how you look at it. It will mark the 12th time I’ve had an actual birthday and me being on this earth 48 years. I’m feeling pretty ambivalent about it. I’m not depressed because I’m older (not my style at all). I’m also not excited about it. It is just another day – mostly…