Excitable Boy
I wonder at which point birthdays stop becoming exciting. When I was younger, my birthday was like a second Christmas. I'd always have a birthday party, I'd always get cool presents, and I'd always look forward to being one number more than the day before.
Somewhere around my 13th or 14th birthday, my mom told me I wasn't having a birthday party because I was "too old." A side effect of this decision was fewer gifts, as most of my family members generally either forgot about my birthday or didn't feel obliged to send me anything because I wasn't having a birthday party. Interesting how when you're younger, you don't really need money, but people will give it to you. When you're older, you need money more and people want you to earn it yourself. Sort of a microcosm of America.
I think it was around this point that my birthdays began to lose their luster. Without parties, all I had to look forward to were the big milestones: 16, 17, 18, and 21. When my 15th birthday rolled around, nothing happened. I was just a day older and I could officially say I was 15 instead of 14. When I turned 16, I could get a permit. I didn't really care so much about getting my permit. Don't get me wrong; I really wanted to, but I ended up not getting it until a couple months later. When I turned 17, I could see rated R movies. Then again, at that point I still didn't have any form of ID, so it's not like I could prove my age if they asked me to anyway. Not to mention that I'd been seeing rated R movies anyway since most movie theaters don't really care how old you are.
Then, the next year, I hit a big one--18 years old. I was officially an adult (though "officially" doesn't really mean much with me...case in point, my Ghostbusters comforter that I've had for at least 12 years and still use to this day). I could buy cigarettes, porn, and I had no curfew. Then again, I've never smoked a cigarette in my life, I'm too nervous to even consider buying porn, and my parents wanted me home by 12 on most nights even though legally I could stay out.
But after turning 18, there's a big gap in the milestones. 20 seems like it should be big--after all, 10, 30, 40, and 50 are all fairly big milestones--but it's not. Nothing happens on your 20th birthday. Someone brought to my attention a couple weeks ago that I wouldn't be a teenager anymore--but truth be told, I haven't felt like a teenager since I turned 18. Since then, I really haven't matured all that much. I certainly learn new things every day, and my perspective on life is constantly changing, but in terms of emotional maturity, I haven't aged since that summer. Essentially, since I turned 18, my public status hasn't changed very much at all.
No, the true milestone comes next year. Young alcoholic or prudent choirboy, I'd say that 95-99% of young Americans are chomping at the bit for their 21st birthday. But what happens afer that? You wake up the next morning with a hangover worse than most you'll ever have in your entire life, and all of a sudden you're no longer the festive birthday boy or girl. You are now just a pathetically unkempt 21-year-old sporting a headache that gets readings on the Richter scale. Your last important birthday has come and gone. From now on, the highlight of your birthday will be crappy little notes left on your desk by co-workers just reminding you that you're one year closer to death.
And thanks to a severe lack of importance placed on the 20th birthday here in America, all I am today is one number higher and one year closer to death.
Somewhere around my 13th or 14th birthday, my mom told me I wasn't having a birthday party because I was "too old." A side effect of this decision was fewer gifts, as most of my family members generally either forgot about my birthday or didn't feel obliged to send me anything because I wasn't having a birthday party. Interesting how when you're younger, you don't really need money, but people will give it to you. When you're older, you need money more and people want you to earn it yourself. Sort of a microcosm of America.
I think it was around this point that my birthdays began to lose their luster. Without parties, all I had to look forward to were the big milestones: 16, 17, 18, and 21. When my 15th birthday rolled around, nothing happened. I was just a day older and I could officially say I was 15 instead of 14. When I turned 16, I could get a permit. I didn't really care so much about getting my permit. Don't get me wrong; I really wanted to, but I ended up not getting it until a couple months later. When I turned 17, I could see rated R movies. Then again, at that point I still didn't have any form of ID, so it's not like I could prove my age if they asked me to anyway. Not to mention that I'd been seeing rated R movies anyway since most movie theaters don't really care how old you are.
Then, the next year, I hit a big one--18 years old. I was officially an adult (though "officially" doesn't really mean much with me...case in point, my Ghostbusters comforter that I've had for at least 12 years and still use to this day). I could buy cigarettes, porn, and I had no curfew. Then again, I've never smoked a cigarette in my life, I'm too nervous to even consider buying porn, and my parents wanted me home by 12 on most nights even though legally I could stay out.
But after turning 18, there's a big gap in the milestones. 20 seems like it should be big--after all, 10, 30, 40, and 50 are all fairly big milestones--but it's not. Nothing happens on your 20th birthday. Someone brought to my attention a couple weeks ago that I wouldn't be a teenager anymore--but truth be told, I haven't felt like a teenager since I turned 18. Since then, I really haven't matured all that much. I certainly learn new things every day, and my perspective on life is constantly changing, but in terms of emotional maturity, I haven't aged since that summer. Essentially, since I turned 18, my public status hasn't changed very much at all.
No, the true milestone comes next year. Young alcoholic or prudent choirboy, I'd say that 95-99% of young Americans are chomping at the bit for their 21st birthday. But what happens afer that? You wake up the next morning with a hangover worse than most you'll ever have in your entire life, and all of a sudden you're no longer the festive birthday boy or girl. You are now just a pathetically unkempt 21-year-old sporting a headache that gets readings on the Richter scale. Your last important birthday has come and gone. From now on, the highlight of your birthday will be crappy little notes left on your desk by co-workers just reminding you that you're one year closer to death.
And thanks to a severe lack of importance placed on the 20th birthday here in America, all I am today is one number higher and one year closer to death.
posted by Kevin A. Doran at 4:18 AM
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