Welcome to My World

My thirtieth birthday is this Friday (April 18, in case anybody’s actually curious ). I’m not one to generally make a huge fuss over my own birthdays (though I’m also not a spoiled-sport about them — I always graciously accept “happy birthday!” notes from those courteous enough to offer them and I always appreciate it when friends decide it’s worth making a big deal out of it; I’ll never forget the whipped cream pie I got in the face last year at R.J. Gator’s ), but for some reason I actually find myself looking a bit oddly at this one coming up tomorrow.

Thirty seems like a bigger number than the other birthdays (duh, it’s larger than 29, or any other age I’ve reached; I mean it feels more significant). The whole week has definitely been on the weird side, but there were two moments in particular that have slapped me across the face a bit harder than usual.

Wednesday, as I bought a couple gallons of milk at Sam’s Club (along with some other junk), a woman walked by, and in a bit of a flirty tone, said “looks like you’ve got some teenagers!” It was the first time it’s ever occurred to me that I actually look old enough to be a father now. Heh. This afternoon, as I waited for the mechanic to finish helping my truck drain another $800 from my pocket, a woman waiting at the shop for an oil change turned to me and said “you look familiar — do I know you from somewhere?” Looking back, this is actually a pretty classic come-on line, but is also a fairly standard conversation starter, too. As I listed some of the stuff I do out in public where she might have seen me, none of them rang any bells, so she asked “wait, do you have kids who go to school here?” D’oh!

In my late twenties, I enjoyed not ever getting carded at a bar. Since I don’t actually have any kids yet, it feels seriously weird to have people now looking at me and assuming I’m old enough that I should have kids. Not strictly “bad” — just weird.

I assume this isn’t a “mid-life crisis” sort of thing; I understand that tends to crop up in a person’s forties, not the thirties, and it only seems to happen to about 10% of people anyway. That and I have no interest in burning bridges, buying a ridiculously overpriced sports car (I did that in my early twenties at the behest of my ex-wife), making drastic lifestyle changes, or anything else like that.

I’ve just never had a woman just “assume” I had kids, much less two in as many days. It’s a bit flattering that I’m judged to be suitable fatherhood material, but it was also the first time it’s really felt like I’m not a grown-up goofball kid anymore.

A short aside: I’m pleased to report that my truck now has working air conditioning again. It’s just such a shame they found random, seemingly-burned chunky goop in the transmission fluid. Sigh.