“Mommy, when you were little did you watch the Care Bears forty hundred times?”
“No Beth, I could only watch the Care Bears on the weekend because we didn’t have cable TV, VCRs or DVD players”
“Oh, you mean back in the old days?”

I am certain that I never referred to anything being associated with “the old days”. I am certain that I have never heard Cheryl refer to “the old days”. I am therefore confident that this piece of english language nostalgia did not rub off from one of her parents. So this begs the question: are we getting old?

I am definitely older, but I am certainly not old. Lets review. I am too old to enlist in the armed forces. No loss there. I’m more the “make love not war” type anyway. I am past my athletic prime, so the window for achieving my childhood desire to be a professional soccer player has all but closed. That was a dream that died hard in middle school when I didn’t make the club team final cut, so that one isn’t eating me up either. I have unintentionally repeated things that my father told me when I was a child. This one is a little concerning, but taken on it’s own isn’t much.

So am I old? My coworkers would say no. My daughter would apparently say yes. I am relatively young by most societal standards. I am 32 years old (almost). According to the U.S. Census, the mean and median age of the U.S. population is right around 37, so I am below average in that respect. But what do I think? After all, mine is the only opinion that matters. Let me just say this: I’m just getting started. Pity my poor wife and child.