Getting Old

I guess it’s time I start getting used to it. At 28, I’m getting old. My first realization of this came on my birthday in April. I was totally convinced that I was turning 29. It took my mom a while to convince me otherwise. But her persistence, i bet, was partly related to that fact that agreeing to my being 1 year older meant coming to grips with another year closer to 50 for her, and that would be unacceptable before its time. So, I’m 28, not 29. And I hope my memory doesn’t fail me next year into thinking I am turning 32.

The second indication of my aging is a piece of mail that I received a few days ago. It looked like any other piece of junk mail, but the word “Irvine” caught my eye. Irvine was a city that I lived in while I lived in California, it was the name of the city and of the high school from which I graduated in 1998. Yep, it was junk mail advertising my 10 year high school class reunion. I say junk mail because I don’t get it. I don’t get why I would want to go back to that place. I know that some people have good memories of their high school times, but I don’t. I was just the quiet and awkward kid who sat in the back of class so I could be better ignored by the cool kids. But don’t read that as me being bitter, because it was part of what brought me and formed me into who I am today… A loud and awkward old dude.

I just hope my hair doesn’t start going gray and falling out, requiring me to use just for men and cut it with the number 1 trimmer to camouflage the fact that my appointment with a cane is getting closer every day.