Getting Old

I am now officially old. I attended my ten year high school reunion (well, technically it wasn’t mine… I was part of the class from Kindergarten through 11^th grade but graduated elsewhere) this past weekend. We took a tour of the old school grounds which had been dramatically updated, we all commented on how cute each others' kids were while secretly knowing that mine was the cutest, and we played – badly – a four inning game of softball. I spent the next day feeling like someone had stabbed me in the shoulder with a Barbie Doll foot (those things are sharp!) and cried myself to sleep after downing a bottle of tasty Percocet.

     I also helped a student navigate the waters of admission to the university at which I work last week (that sentence was overly wordy, but I didn’t want to say “my university”). Now, helping students get admitted happens all the time, but this particular student happened to be the little sister of one of my old classmates and I remember when she was born… cause I was in middle school! Talk about feeling old! Granted, I’m still more than a year away from thirty… but only by two months. When I wander the toy aisle at Target, I don’t recognize half of the cartoons the toys are based on and the ones I do recognize are making their comebacks because they’re so old that people like them again. Worst of all, I’m pretty sure my back hair is starting to gray.

     I did get to see a few of my former teachers and administrators over the last few days. One thing that I was reminded of was that there are plenty of people older than me. And a lot of those older people are pretty awesome. In fact, I’m entering the stage of life that they were in when they had such a huge impact in mine. Growing up, most all of my teachers were in their thirties and forties. They had families and bad backs and mortgages. They were falling victim to thinning hair, early signs of wrinkles, and bowel irregularity. But did they let that stop them from rocking some lectures on volcanoes or throwing out some wicked-sweet cursive homework or telling me to sit down and be quiet because nobody cares what a pterodactyl sounds like when it’s in heat? Heck no! They were classroom demi-gods! They didn’t let any of that “getting old” crap stop them, and neither will I. That graying back hair is really just a sign that I’m a silverback, and silverbacks will mess you up… with knowledge!

     What does any of this have to do with writing? Well, very little other than the fact that this weekend really made me think about that page at the beginning of every good book where the author acknowledges the fact that there are cooler people out there than him/her. I guess I’m going to have to write a lot of books in order to thank all the people that made a difference in my life. Or maybe I should just include a complete list via an Excel file with each digital copy… that’s probably more efficient.