I am not entirely sure how old I am. When someone asks, I have to stop and do the math — which assumes I know what year it is. That’s not a given. I have confidently given the wrong answer more than once, only to be corrected by my wife, my friends or, on one occasion, a cashier who seemed far too pleased to announce it.
It sounds ridiculous, but I know I’m not alone. If we’re being honest, some birthdays matter a lot, while others are about as meaningful as those college textbooks you refuse to throw away — just in case “Intro to Economics” makes a comeback.
Turning 13 was a big deal. You were officially a teenager. Did anything actually change? No. But it felt important, which is really what matters at 13.
At 14, things got serious. You could legally drive — with an adult in the car, of course, presumably to keep you from immediately steering into a cornfield. Still, that tiny taste of freedom was everything. You could also drive a moped, which felt incredibly cool at the time and incredibly not cool about two years later.
By 16, you had a real driver’s license and the ability to go places alone. Freedom. Independence. The open road. Today, I’m amazed at how many 16-year-olds aren’t in a hurry to get their license. I practically sprinted to mine. I begged a friend for a ride to another county just to take the test sooner. Now, between parents, ride-hailing apps and friends with cars, “I’ll just wait” has apparently become a strategy.
At 18, you could vote, get married or be drafted — all very adult activities I was in no rush to participate in. What I did understand was that getting into trouble suddenly came with adult consequences, which took some of the fun out of bad decisions.
Turning 21 and legally drinking wasn’t quite the cinematic moment I expected. No confetti. No parade. Just the realization that beverages are expensive. But 25? Now that was a milestone. My car insurance dropped, and I briefly considered celebrating by buying a sports car — until I learned the insurance would cost more than the car payment. Reality remains undefeated.
And that, I think, was the last truly exciting birthday. Now I’m somewhere in the neighborhood of 57, give or take a calculator check. The milestones are less about freedom and more about discounts. I find myself asking questions like, “Is this restaurant age-discriminating in my favor?” and “Do I qualify for that yet, or do I need to age another six months?”
In the meantime, I’ll keep doing the math every time someone asks my age. And with a little luck — and maybe a calculator — I might even get it right.
Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.
Shane Goodman
President and Publisher
Big Green Umbrella Media
shane@gctimesnews.com
515-953-4822, ext. 305
www.gctimesnews.com