I took The Boy to our local EB Games last night (those things are like Radio Shacks--there's one on every corner now), because he wanted to trade in the video games he doesn't play to make room for what he hopes will be plenty of new ones coming for his birthday (a week from Sunday) and Christmas. He also wanted to see if he'd get enough in trade to be able to get a new (used) game for free, so he and his friends would have something new to play at his birthday party sleep-over tomorrow night.
It turns out that he got more in trade than he'd anticipated: He got his new game and a Wii zapper, and still has credit left to buy anything he might not get for Christmas. But that's not the exciting thing, and it's certainly not why I'm telling you this story.
The guys who work at our EB Games are really nice, and even kind of flirty (with me, not with The Boy--they're just nice to him). So they were checking my information to update The Boy's frequent buyer card, and after confirming my address and stuff, the guy said, "And your birth date is January of 1980?" 1980?!?!? I was born in January of 1971! I don't care if the guy was blind, stupid, lying, or whatever, but he didn't bat an eye at the notion that I was 28 years old! I have no problems with the fact that I'll actually be 38 next month, and I'm always bothered by the importance our culture puts on being/looking young, but I have to admit that I was flattered.
So that was nice. Especially when my boy is about to turn twelve. (Which, the astute among you may have noticed, means that next year my son will be a teenager.) I try not to think about that, though, because my mind can't grasp the physics of how my child could be a teenager when I myself was a teenager like, fifteen minutes ago. Perhaps I've been spending time hanging out near a black hole without knowing it?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment