Well, my 28th birthday has come and gone, and I am left feeling old. I must admit, I’ve been feeling old for a while now; after all, I am halfway through my late twenties. Actually, since I am a math nerd, I feel I must clarify and note that turning 28 marks the 1/3-point through my late twenties… I’ll be halfway when I am 28.5. Anyway, as my age keeps climbing, I realize that I am becoming more and more like my dad and grandpa. This is not a bad thing, as I love and respect them both; it is just a strange thing to realize.
For instance, when my dad used to play basketball with us at open gyms and the like, I can remember him running around with a smile, cracking jokes and just having fun. I play basketball quite a bit still, and I find myself being less competitive and more laid back, making jokes and just having fun. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate losing and get down on myself when I don’t play well, but I’m not about to argue with someone over a call or anything like that. I’ve also noticed that I sweat more when I play, which is also indicative of me aging (not to mention the soreness my body feels from time to time).
As previously stated, I added an integer to my age. As far as presents go, I was pretty excited about what I got from my parents and grandparents: a hose, and a wheelbarrow. See? Old. I asked for these things because they are necessary to the outdoor projects Amber and I have started around the house. What happened to the days of asking for Legos and G.I.Joes? I suppose all those hours of building things with Legos were preparing me for my eventual homeownership. I did build a wall of landscaping bricks around a little tree last week, which obviously could never have been accomplished without my vast Lego experience.
Yes, I’m getting old. I now pass on the vanilla coffeemate and drink my coffee black, I get excited about making my yard look nice, early bedtimes and getting up early bring me happiness, and I even have sprouted a few chest hairs recently. That last bit may have been too much info for you, but I’m an honest fellow. Of the three Lemiere boys, I am the shortest, weigh the least, and I am the least hairy. My Grandma Doris would argue that I’m also the ugliest. That is called getting the short end of the stick. Some day, when I’m really old, I hope to have the gift of a beard, which will certainly etch my name into the books for the ugliest grandson. Even though Andy is her favorite grandson, she still asks him regularly if his razor is broken.
Since it is more than likely that I will only continue to age, I suppose I just have to accept these things. At church last week, I realized that I went to high school with a girl’s sister, to which she replied, “You’re old.” In Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail, there is a scene where Arthur, King of the Britains, comes upon a person collecting filth and says, “Old woman.” You know the scene… it is actually a man named Dennis, and he states that he is 27 and NOT old. Well, I’ve got news for you, Dennis: had King Arthur found you one year later, he would have addressed you correctly… except for the woman part.
(Wondering about the title? A Sexagenarian is someone in their sixties. I'm currently a Vicenarian.)
