Dawn Is Me

I turned 50 years old today.

Half a century. Wow.

No, I still don’t feel any different. But clearly, this makes a difference to other people.

What did I do for my birthday? I visited the doctor’s office.

This is how I can tell that I have crossed a threshhold. Now, in the doctor’s office, I’m discussing menopause and preventive colostomies.

And I got my very first invitation to join AARP in the mail!

Some of my children wished me a happy birthday.

As usual, there was no birthday cake.

But I think I’m at the stage where there is no longer any question: I am a grownup.

Otherwise … just another day.

So, tell me if this ever happens to you.

Every now and then, I forget how old I am.

That’s not quite as insane as it may sound. Well, at least, I hope not … but, then, that’s why I’m asking you about it. Always operating under the assumption that you are possibly more sane than I am.

Anyway, for about two weeks after my birthday, I find myself telling myself at random moments, “I am N years old,” where N is equal to my current age at the moment — as contrasted to my former age, which was my current age a week or so before the aforementioned episode of talking to myself.

Maybe I am insane.

Yes, it’s sad but true. Right after I have a birthday, I am constantly in danger of forgetting that I’ve had a birthday and the age I’m used to being, after a year of being that age, is no longer the age I am.

Interestingly, this is not a problem I had when I was, say, thirteen.

I don’t think that’s a function of creeping senility, either.

When you’re twelve and you turn thirteen, you have spent a lot of time up until your birthday reminding yourself that you are about to turn thirteen. That’s because you’re a kid and you’re excited about the notion of getting older — especially one of the biggies, like thirteen, when you ‘officially’ enter the magical land of teendom.

In fact, when you’re that age, you have to exert a certain amount of control over yourself to keep yourself from telling people that you’re 13 for at least the last month before your birthday.

By the time you get to be my age, such excitement no longer applies.

It’s sad and bewildering but, for some reason, I am not exactly excited anymore about getting older. Oh well … that’s another change that you kiddies have to look forward to.