terrible horrible no good very bad. . . age

I never thought I would need to have a kid of my own in order to make me feel like a kid again. I mean, I’ve never really had that much difficulty finding my “inner child”. I doubt that anyone I know, outside of maybe my own son, would actually mistake me for an adult. And I have to admit, I kind of like it that way. But my son did something the other day that forced me to look more closely at the reflection I see in the mirror every day and realize, once and for all, that I am all growed up. Shit! It happened to me too! I don’t remember the moment the change occurred - it must have been years ago – or maybe it was just a gradual shift from youth to adulthood made imperceptible by the focus I’ve placed on my career, my wife and my family, and a modest acquisition of knowledge along the way. Maybe the gray hair popping up all over my temples has something to do with it. Maybe the world is just spinning faster than it used to. No – heck, it must be global warming. Yeah, that’s it.

Either way, I’m screwed. I’m officially old. As crusty and wrinkled as your grandma’s upper lip. Might as well toss in the towel now. Save myself the trouble of dementia and arthritis. Just pack up my bag and take a long walk off a short pier. Do they have ice-cream in heaven? Will you play “I'm a Barbie Girl" at my funeral?

Anyhoo. It was my son that forced me to realize this terrible news, as if the mere fact that I AM A FATHER wasn’t enough in the first place. And he did this to me with one cool little trick that he apparently learned all on his own - he did a summersault. He bent over at the waist, looked between his legs at his mommy behind him, tucked his grinning face into his chest, and rolled. And then he laughed and did it again. When I saw this for the first time, I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. My kid just figured out how to do a summersault! Sweet! How much fun is it that he’s discovered how to do something that we've all done so many times in our own lives? It’s kind of like playing catch with him for the first time, or seeing the look on his face the first time he ever ate candy. How nice to relive those memories!


No - not that nice, really. It just makes you feel old. After Ben finished rolling around the living room, I got down on my knees and attempted my own summersault. And, as ridiculous as it must have looked, I did it. I may have nearly put my foot straight through the TV, but I did it. The cat ran out of the room for fear of being trampled, but I did it. And it was then, as I sat panting on the ground with my arms wrapped around my knees, that I realized I hadn’t done a summersault in more than 10 years - at least. I couldn’t remember. How is it that 10 years of my life could have gone by without my rolling around on the floor end-over-end until I got dizzy? What have I been doing with my life? What else have I been neglecting? Hand-stands? Skipping? Jumping-jacks? Making wet imprints of my butt on the driveway after jumping out of the pool? Frying bugs with a magnifying glass? Ahhhh! I’m so old! Someone save me!

I don’t know what to do now. Maybe I should go out and buy myself a hand-knit shawl. Actually, I should probably start thinking about what I’d like to see carved on my tombstone. “Here Lies An Aged Old Man - The Oldest 29-Year Old Who Ever Lived” or “Don’t Sit On This Here Grass – I Just Ate Mexican For Dinner”.

Or maybe I just need to practice my summersaulting. And skipping. Come to think of it, my whistling and bubble-blowing could use some work too. I’ll stop eating my vegetables. I forsee a lot of cartoons in my morning routine from now on. And I’m going to start pulling girls' hair and throwing rocks.

Hey Benjamin! Let’s go outside! I want to climb the tree! No, c’mon, let’s go! Forget your calculus homework, I want to go spit on bugs!