I'm Okay With That - Really

Some milestones are to be applauded, indeed celebrated. Your eighteenth birthday. Your engagement or wedding. Birthdays that end in a zero and are less than thirty or above sixty.

Some milestones are to be avoided. Birthdays that end in a zero that are more than twenty, but less than seventy. How many people do you know who will celebrate their twenty-ninth birthday this year ... again?

Some milestones are to be mourned.

Today I crossed a sobering threshold. Most people would write it off as 'no big deal'. But, to continue my well established motif of making a 'big deal' out of various trivialities and in the spirit of over thinking every speck of minutia in my life, I now present the latest challenge to my self esteem and peace of mind.

This year I will turn forty-five years old. My 'baby' will turn sixteen. A lesser man might be tempted to stress over things like this, but not me, I am a rock (hmmm, a rock ... old as dirt and age can be determined by carbon dating). I mean, forget the fact the any pro athlete over forty is considered a doddering old fool in need of a good friend to tell him it's high time to hang it up before he embarrasses himself or has his frail body irreparably damaged by some young turk.

Even in normal life, forty-five is fairly old. Yes, I know, forty is the new thirty, but still, having twenty-somethings call me Mr. Dufrene kind of brings some perspective to it. Even though I know it is said with the best of intentions and meant as a sign of respect, sometimes it still rubs me the wrong way.

I'll be with a group of yutes carrying on a conversation about what is the hot new music and who are the hot new bands. Feeling a sense of belonging and comradery. Then without warning, BAM, there it is. Like ice water poured down the front of the old trousers. "See ya later Mr. Todd." Ouch.

When did I stop being a youth and become Mr. Todd? I still feel like a youth. Well, most of the time. At least when the arthritis isn't acting up.

So, what brought on all of this fuss? Is it my fast approaching birthday? Is it the fact that my older children are old enough to make me a grandfather? Is it the abundance of gray hairs gradually taking over my gotee? Is it the creaking of the joints on cold mornings? What, oh what, could have insighted this age-conscious self flagellation?

I bought my very first pair of reading glasses today.

There I said it. I feel better for having faced it and gotten it off of my chest. For what it's worth, they are quite stylish. Almost hip, if you ignore the fact that they are ... well ... reading glasses. But, they are reading glasses, and I'm okay with that.

Really.