On Sunday I turned 50.
There wasn’t too much fanfare, especially since my wife was still in the hospital that morning. However, I did get a nice card from my church and a wonderful church-lady-prepared dinner afterwards. Later that night I also got a free meal at a local restaurant, along with a unique gift sure to set me apart from the locals this winter – a set of Nordic woolen underwear (literally from Norway, not the restaurant).
Today I turned 50+2, but that’s the end of looking at it that way. Today I’m letting the whole world know I am not 50 years old – I’m 25, and less.
Seriously, I am a 25-year-old trapped in a 50-year-old’s body.
Forget what the numbers add up to when you look at my government-issued driver’s license (for which I’ve just gone through a roll-full of red tape to renew)- I’m 25, so just affirm it.
You see, even though this body of mine looks like a handsome, graying, bald man, I’m really a young man with healthy joints trapped inside. Unfortunately, no age-reversing creams or surgeries can help me look like what I really am, so you are going to have to accept me for who I choose to be – young and millennial.
But there’s more!
Even though I am only 25, there’s another me that’s trapped inside the 25-year-old me… it’s the fluid-aged me.
(Yes, I know it’s complicated, but there has to be boundaries, you understand. I can’t keep my job as a school bus driver in Tennessee if my true self fluctuates below the legal bus-driving age of 25.)
This other me (and what’s wrong with more than one?) can get down on the floor and play with blocks, color with crayons, play with Silly Putty, and throw food at people when they aren’t looking. It’s the same me inside of me that tends to make strange noises with my body and blame it on spiders; or make other kids laugh and get in trouble with their teachers, but never own up to causing it.
The me inside of the 25-year-old me varies from age to age, but that’s typically based on which toy aisle I’m visiting.
So, again, I’m no longer going to simply identify as a 50-year-old man, but a bi-personage with both fixed and fluid younger ages. Those of you who rate life and health insurance should take note and lower said rates accordingly.
However, should the military draft ever be re-instated, and should the 25-year-old me receive a letter, just understand that you might be putting an AR-15 in the hands of an 8-year-old, also.
Being 50 on the outside does have some advantages, I suppose.