They’re not big numbers. Not on their own. As individuals. Leave them by themselves and people would think you were very young. A pup. So cute. Adorable, even!
But combine them as an age – just like that little gremlin of a daughter did to me the other day – and they sound pretty horrible. Angry. Tired and worn out.
I won’t say the two numbers that when put together mark my years on this Earth. They’re kind of painful.
But she did.
We were riding along, making idle chit-chat. Because she’s 14 and most of the time I don’t know what to say to her, I just pick random things that pop into my mind. Things I think a 14-year-old might find fascinating and REALLY cool. So, I said, “Can you believe it’s almost February?”
“Yeah,” she said, with the enthusiasm of a can of corn. “And you know what else? That means it’s almost your birthday.”
If she had just left it there, it would have been one of those “warm your heart moments.” What a sweet angel. She remembered my birthday is coming.
But … she didn’t leave it there.
“So, you know you’re going to be [I PLEAD THE FIFTH AMENDMENT HERE AND BLEEP OUT MY AGE]?” she asked.
“Um, yeah, I’m kind of aware. Thanks,” I said.
“Wow! Like, really, WOW! That’s old, dad. Like you’re getting up there, you know that?” she said. “I mean, you know in [BLEEP] years you’ll be 50, right?”
“Um … er … yeah. Kind of know that, too.”
“And then in only [BLEEP] years you’ll be 60. Whoosh! Yikes. How time flies, huh? And then, I don’t want to tell you this, but like in only [BLEEP] years you’ll be 70! How do you feel about that?”
“You know I’m pulling the car over and throwing you out. That’s how I feel about that,” I told her. “But here’s the thing: At least when I look in the mirror, I still look young … right?”
There was a pause. A REALLY awkward pause. She just stared at me. Finally she said: “Um … uh … yeah. So, is that how you see yourself in the mirror? Young?”
“GET OUT OF THE CAR!!!” I yelled. “Here’s a quarter for the bus. Good luck getting home!”
Because ouch! Because, yes, that IS how I see myself in the mirror. I think I look pretty young. I think I feel pretty young. And until the little 14-year-old bugger brought it up, I still thought I WAS pretty young. These ticking by numbers didn’t seem to be affecting me.
But, it got me wondering, was I just fooling myself? It’s like that expression: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I always thought youth was, too. If you thought young, if you didn’t get hung up on aging and getting older, you could just stem that tide. Stave it off.
I thought about my dad, back when he was turning these ages. I remember calling him “old man.” It wasn’t to be mean, or spiteful. It was just that he had reached a set of years that seemed so out of reach to me as a kid. It was hard to fathom those numbers. That you could live that long. It was like trying to imagine what $1 trillion dollar worth of bills laid out on the floor might look like. Or how tall Mt. Everest was when I had spent my whole life strutting around Florida at sea level. It just wasn’t within my level of comprehension.
It wasn’t that he looked old. But he had to be, with an age like that. He had seen things. Covered so much territory. Launched a thousand ships. Personally known Sophocles, and even his buddy Stan.
His age wasn’t a curse. It was actually a badge of honor and pride. It was something I wanted to be one day. Wise. Strong. An adult.
So why was it so different on the other side? Now that I’m up there? I don’t even like to say the numbers!
Perspective, I guess. And maybe it is large-part mental. All in your head. Who you see in the mirror. Whether you really get old or not. Not in the way you combine the numbers, but when you decide to let them age you.
Who knows? And I guess I could have worked this out with the kid, but I had dropped her off two blocks back on the side of the road. [BLEEP!] I guess I better go back and pick her up.