When Did I Grow Old?

So when did I grow old? All around me there are signs but I can't see them? I can't feel them. I think anyone that has a child feels it the most. One day they say something and immediately their mind turns on itself and asks the question, were those words from my mouth or my parents?

Last night I was playing a video game on my son's Xbox. I was engaged with some alien civilization but that's not what is important. Over and over again, my son's friends kept sending messages asking me to join their party. Sadly, I am quite certain they assumed it was Noah playing and not his 42 year old father. I seriously doubt a 12 year old wanted to "party" with me. Despite this cruel reality, I felt oddly offended. I mean wasn't it within the realm of possibility in their little minds that the player could actually be Noah's father? Come on kids, I grew up in the era when video games were invented. Doesn't that count for something?

Of course to a 12 year old, 42 years can seem equivalent to the time that has passed between now and the end of the Roman Empire. Noah punctuated the inequity and obscurity he sees my distant past with another statement the other day. We were discussing his desire to have a car. Thankfully I still have a few years before I must confront this however, when I stated that it seemed children today had no concept of the vehicles we once drove. Noah immediately protested. I continued to explain that today parents seem to buy their children their first car. It is a safe model, often a family hand me down. When I was a child I was responsible for my own transportation, gas and insurance. The vehicles I drove were miracles in their own rights. After wrecking my first car, an MG that I spent more time working on then ever on the road, I received a dilapidated Toyota station wagon in trade for the remnants of my MG. The front fenders were so rusted they literally flapped while I drove down the road. I had to hold them down with duct tape. The ignition was broken and I had to cross two wires to start the thing. My girlfriend at the time jokingly referred to it as "the limousine." I would have been happy had my accelerator actually stuck as it would have allowed me to continue on without fear of breakdown.

So after sharing my early driving experiences with Noah he responded, "Pop, things were different in your time. Cars were still new."

"Yes son," I thought, "I was so happy to finally be able to stable my horse."

A few weeks ago my friend Dave and I visited Las Vegas together. It was a guy trip filled with playing craps, smoking cigars and drinking beer. As we walked down the street together, two middle aged men, we admired the beautiful girls walking by. They were so young, so beautiful, every straight man's fantasy. We smiled wanting to flirt yet knowing in our hearts we were two middle aged men. We didn't feel the belly bulge but it was there. We didn't notice the thinning hair yet our scalps glistened through.

"Oh we are too old!" I told Dave.

"Dave responded, I don't feel old."

So when did it happen? How can I feel so young inside yet appear old on the outside. Do I accept my age? It seemed like that's what my parents did. I don't ever remember them doing young things. Of course, perhaps I was as blind as my son is to me today. Has something different happened inside of me or am I my parents when they were 42 years old? As middle age sets in am I pathetic to deny it or charming in an old odd sort of way? Are there people in the world that see through the outward signs of age and find the youthful man inside or am I doomed to simply console myself with the understanding of those in the same stage of life?

There is an old adage, if you want to look young, have fat friends. Maybe I should start hanging out with people older than myself. Of course with each passing year the pool of possibilities becomes smaller and smaller. Oh well, I think I will play a video game tonight, maybe listen to Lady Gaga.