The Big Three Oh!

Well, it finally happened. I did what I could to prevent it but in the end I was powerless to stop it. This July I turned 30.

I don’t mind it; really, it’s just another number in the end. I’ve often heard the adage about being “young at heart,” actually I think that was Sinatra and not really an adage. Nevertheless, I think there’s a lot of truth in that. I know many people who have been “old at heart” long before they hit 30. Then there are people like me who still think the whoopee cushion is man’s greatest achievement since the pyramids.

One difficult thing about 30 is being a High School teacher. When I was in my 20’s I was able to develop friendships with many of my students. After all, I was only a few years older and many of them even had siblings my age. It didn’t matter that I was 29, when they asked how old I was, all they heard was, “I’m in my 20’s.” Now that I’m just barely 30 years old (okay almost 30 and ½) all they hear is, “I’m in my 30’s.” “Well,” they must think, “that’s almost 40.”

But so what, right? I don’t need those guys. I have plenty of friends; friends who were there for me (all two of them) to share my celebratory 30th birthday fajita at Don Pablo’s. Friends who are no longer able to stay out past 10:30 pm. Friends whose stomachs can’t take roller coasters or bacon cheese burgers anymore. Friends who share my elation for coupon day, filing income tax forms and staff meetings. Good friends.

I am not alone in my family, either. I have one cousin who is still four days older than me (hi Dee!) and another who is only a few months behind me (hi Lisa!) who shared this milestone with me. I’m sure their celebration was every bit as thrilling as mine (how was Manhattan Lisa?)

While it’s true that I have no emotional stress about being 30, I think my body has decided to just start packing things in. In fact, I think my body is trying to sabotage itself. Apparently it’s angry at me for something I did to it in my childhood, and it can really hold a grudge. For one thing, it has starting sprouting hair in places that have no plausible function in life; places like my ear and back. Last time I got a haircut the girls started shaving the back of my neck and kept going down until she saw my belt. I have also weighed in at my all time high at 185 lbs (although that was during Christmas). My feet hurt all day regardless of what kind of orthopedic contraption I put on them or under them. Also, when we go out to eat, I need to start planning around my stomach’s extra curricular activities. I even find myself drinking soy and rice milk, craving bean sprouts, and raving about tofu dogs. The days of midnight cheese steaks and Mountain Dew for breakfast are rapidly disappearing.

But with age comes wisdom and that means I’m getting smarter…I think. In these past 30 years I’ve learned many valuable life lessons. The kind of lessons a father and teacher, such as myself, is dutifully bound to pass on. I’ve learned what happens when you put a marshmallow in a microwave. I’ve learned why you shouldn’t touch exposed electrical wires in a wall outlet. I’ve learned what happens when you put a firecracker in a teddy bear and how to escape form an erupting volcano. I’ve also learned very useful life skills like juggling scarves, several yo-yo tricks, how to pull a quarter out of an ear and how to make a Twinkie-wiener sandwich.

I’m not sure if I’ve officially entered middle-age yet. Technically speaking, if 30 is middle-aged then I’ll be dead by 60, so let’s not call this middle-age. I think 30 is like the pre-teen years of adulthood. I’m hoping that soon the acne-of-debt will clear up for me and I’ll get my learner’s permit-of-career-professionalism. Then I’ll graduate from the high school-of-bumbling-parenthood and head off to the college-of-not-watching-so-many-cartoons. Maybe I’ll stop at the trade school-of-awkward-metaphors on the way.

So here’s to the next decade. I’ll be 40 in one third of the time it took me to get here. Let’s see if my body will hold out that long.