At the age of 25, I seldom find myself “feeling old.”
While many of my friends point to their inabilities to drink and party the way they did in college, I don’t feel their pain.
But Dec. 30 changed how I feel, at least for a few minutes.
On my dinner break at work, I went to Marco’s, one of my favorite pizza places around. As I was paying for my meal at the counter, the young man behind the register noticed my PIAA Cross Country Championships sweatshirt that I still fit into comfortably and wear frequently.
“Do you have a kid that participated in the state championships?” the guy asked me, attempting to make small talk.
I was taken aback. I’m not even married. At best, I’m several years away from having any children. I realize I could never pass for a high school kid, especially with my facial scruff, but old enough to have a high school kid? C’mon now!
“No,” I told him. “I participated in the state championships in cross country my senior year of high school.”
“What year?” he inquired.
“I graduated in 2005, but this was in the fall of 2004,” I told him.
I could tell the young buck felt somewhat bad, but I didn’t mind. As I got my food and carried it out, I laughed to myself as I assessed the situation. But upon further review, I definitely “felt old.”
Prior to that instance, the only times I felt a loosening grip on youth were when I paid enough attention at beer distributors and convenience stores to notice the posted birth date required to buy alcohol and tobacco products. In 2013, it is 1992 for alcohol and 1995 for tobacco. I remember events from 1992 and 1995. And to think they are 21 and 18 years ago, respectively.
Time sure does fly.
But now, advancing into my mid-twenties, I still refuse to “feel old.” I take care of myself, get plenty of exercise and am generally pleased with where my life stands.
Age is just a number. It’s all about how you feel. Another year is a blessing and a reason to be happy. As long as some kid doesn’t assume you’re a grandpa or something ridiculous.