Tonight, my twelve year old said, “I have a question about something that is really weird.”
“When you have your birthday, you will be 48 years old. That’s four times as old as me.”
Here we go.
“What does it feel like?”
“Creaky,” I responded, suddenly grumpy.
“I mean twelve years feels like a really, really long time. It must feel strange to live as long as you have.”
So I told him that it feels like you have led a few back-to-back separate lives, each as a totally different person with the others wrapped inside of you somehow. The first eighteen, then college and the twenties, then kids. It’s like it wasn’t you before, even though the previous you made you who you are now… and you remember every minute as if it just happened. Like you are still twelve. Not four times that.
“That’s so weird.”