When I was a teenager, I figured up how old I’d be on January 1, 2000: 32. That was old to me then—not old like a “senior citizen,” but old like “full adult.” Thirty to 32 was about as old as I could picture myself ever being. Beyond that was just not something I could conceive.

Even as I got older, in my 20s, 30-something was just not something I thought about. When I turned 30, the concept felt so alien. I wasn’t ready to be 30, yet. I wasn’t finished with my 20s. Now that I’m turning 40, I still feel like I’m not finished with my 20s. When I think of myself, I picture myself as in my late 20s. When I see people in their 30s and 40s, I think of them as “older than me.”

After my teenage years, I’ve never been one to dwell on my age. I’ve never been happy or afraid to get older. There’s really nothing magical, joyous, important, notable, or depressing about aging from 24 to 25, or 36 to 37. But I must admit to a bit of surprise when the tens digit changes. It’s not an enlightening moment, but rather just a moment of “Huh? How is this happening already?”

I’ve never cared about cakes and gifts on my birthdays. Birthdays, to me, have always mostly just been an excuse to have my own day, to do what I want without having to ask or answer to anyone about what I’ll do. I’ve usually spent the day doing things I don’t get a chance to do very often. I’ve spent birthdays going to comic book shops, to game stores, writing, reading books, watching movies, playing computer games, etc. It’s very enjoyable to spend 8 to 12 hours doing something I really like to do, with no interruptions, no questions, no one expecting anything from me. It’s just a full day of totally self-centered thoughts and activities.

So, here I am at 40 years old. Physically, I’m starting to feel over 29, but mentally, I still think under 30. I still enjoy doing the things I did at 15: gaming, comic books, movies, hanging out with friends (talking about gaming, comic books, and movies). I probably have more disposable income now than I had total income at 20, but I have only a tiny fraction of the disposable time that I had at 20.

Turning 40 is doing nothing for me. There’s no enlightenment, no epiphany, no feeling of having reached a summit. It’s just another day. I’m holding out hope that turning 42 will give me the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

The family spent a few hours at the neighborhood pool this afternoon. I normally prefer the pool later in the summer, when the water has had a couple months to warm up. The water today was still too cool, and it took several minutes for my body to acclimate to the temperature, but once used to the water, it was just fine.

The pool wasn’t too crowded today. Everyone there was part of a family: moms, dads, and young children. Usually there’s a few teenagers or college kids, and maybe some single folks, too. The only teenagers today, though, were the two lifeguard girls.

Interestingly, one of the lifeguards was an albino. This is only noteworthy because usually lifeguards have tanned skin from their time around the pool, but this girl was very pale, with white hair and eyebrows. She just kind of stood out from what you’d expect to see in the lifeguard chair.

Kids absolutely love swimming pools. They play with such excitement and exuberance. I remember loving the pool in my neighborhood, growing up. My wife’s family had a pool in their backyard. We both have fond memories of afternoons splashing around and playing in the water. We never realized just how exhausting the activity could be for our parents. You can’t take your eyes off children for a minute, and the only thing more fun for them than playing in the pool is playing in the pool with mom and/or dad.

There was one little girl, maybe four or five years old, who kept coming to me and literally wrapping herself around me and climbing up on me. She saw me throw my son up in the air and let him splash down in the water, and she wanted me to do the same for her. I didn’t know this girl, had never seen this girl, and didn’t know her parents.

I asked her where her parents were and she explained that her mom was not there, and her dad was not dressed for the pool. She pointed to her dad, sitting and daydreaming at the exact opposite end of the pool. She was playing in the shallow end, where all the other young children were, and he was sitting over next to the deep end. I tried to explain to her that only her mom or dad could throw her up like I was doing, and I even stopped the play with my son. But she was insistent. She was polite, and sweet, but she really wanted to play.

It was an uncomfortable position for a man to be in. I was fending off this little girl with one arm and holding one of my boys with the other. She kept wrapping herself around my arm and trying to climb up closer to me. Never once did I see her father so much as look over at us. I eventually convinced her that I wasn’t going to pick her up, and I got her off of me without being mean, but she came back a while later. I again managed to talk her away from me.

If I knew the little girl, or at least knew her dad, I wouldn’t have had any problem with playing with her. But it’s real uncomfortable to have an unknown girl so all over me in a pool. What would her father have thought and said if he saw me manhandling his little girl like I was playing with my boys? What would anyone have said if she got hurt? What kind of trouble could I have been in if someone made accusations?

Anyway, other than that situation, the pool day was fun. I got to dive and swim in the deep end during breaks for the kiddies, and we ordered pizza delivered to the pool at the end of our stay. It was a pretty good day. Now I smell like chlorine, my hair is dried all funky, and both boys, and the wife, fell asleep almost immediately.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Two kids are more than twice the effort of one kid. Much more. I dropped off the 6 year old at his friend’s house at 3:00 today, and he didn’t get home again until almost 8:00. So I had the 2 year old for about five hours—just him and me.

The difference between taking care of two brothers versus just one boy is amazing. (Saying “taking care of” sounds like baby-sitting, but a father does not “baby-sit” his own children.) The littlest and I had a really enjoyable afternoon. We went to Subway and got me a sub sandwich (I had missed lunch) and him some potato chips. We went to Cold Stone Creamery and got us both some ice cream. We sat outside the restaurant and watched little birds come around our patio table looking for dropped scraps of food—this thrilled him. We went for a walk around our neighborhood. We played with his building blocks. I pushed him in his swing in the backyard. We generally just had a nice, calm, and almost totally happy afternoon and evening.

There’s no such thing as a “nice, calm, and totally happy” hour with both boys at the same time. Someone takes something from the other. Someone pushes. Someone hits. Someone cries. Someone doesn’t want to play like the other one wants him to play. This one wants your attention right now, and that one wants your attention right now. You tell one to stop doing something, and the other immediately does that same thing. One wants to play outside, and the other wants to play in his bedroom.

This is not so say either of the boys are little hellions; they’re not. They’re just normal, very young boys. And girls at this age are very similar. We have two sets of friends who have two girls around our boys’ ages, and they tell about the same situations. It’s the age, and sibling rivalry.

But anyway, the preschooler and I had a very nice time together. This is not the first time I’ve been alone with him, but usually when I have him alone we’re doing something specific: going to the doctor, going grocery shopping, etc. It’s rare that we can just be together, with no agenda. When it’s just the two of us, he actually listens and follows directions. He laughs more than he cries. He can actually play quietly, alone, for more than 30 seconds. And I don’t have to be a referee, and break up a quarrel every five minutes.

We’ve got to do this more often. I’ve spent time like this with the 6 year old, several times over the years, and he’s great to hang out with too. The 6 year old can carry on a conversation with me, and the toys are more interesting for me (Legos and action figures!). Play with the 2 year old is more basic, but he’s more excited about simple things. The 6 year old was like this too, at 2 years old. How easy I forget, though, how the previous age was.

I wish I could bottle afternoons like today, and open it back up when being referee for the tenth time in an hour has me at my wits end.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

At least once a day, I hear or see some of the hype about Apple’s new iPhone. Apparently, it’s the greatest thing since electricity. But. . .

Top ten reasons why I’m not getting an iPhone:

10. I don’t care.

1. I don’t care, at all.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com