The turn of the century

Another birthday approaches this week. Another year older. Another reminder that I'm not nineteen and immortal anymore. Nicole is a few years younger than me so I get to watch her go through the same stages of realization that she's getting older that I did. Like the first time you hear a song you loved in high school being played on a "Classic Rock" station or Buzz Flashback. Or when you see a tweener wearing something that used to be a staple in your wardrobe but the kid is wearing it to be ironic. I think it's probably tougher for her because now there are entire clothing stores at which she's "too old" to shop. I don't get those kinds of in your face reminders when I walk around The Plaza. A suit is a suit. Shoes are shoes. The only hemline I have to worry about is my kilt's and there's only one way to wear one of those, regardless of how old you are. This morning was my latest "you're old" smack in the face. As I was listening to NPR on my morning run, they were doing a story about a growing number of people going into the ministry. The journalist described them as "a generation that matured at the turn of the century." My first reaction was, "that's not young, that's really old." Then I quickly realized, she was talking about the turn of the twenty first century. So what now? Am I going to be the old guy saying things like "I haven't seen one of those since the turn of the century" or "That reminds me of the great ice storm of ought three." Sigh....