Recently I went to the doctor to diagnose a problem with my shoulder. The doctor I had seen last in my local clinic was no longer there, so I just signed up with a random new doctor, Dr. S. – a woman. When she walked into the examination room where I waited, it struck me like never before. This doctor was a young Indian woman, no more than five feet tall, definitely half my age, definitely no older than my own daughter.
My doctor is younger than my daughter.
That made me think about my curious habit of measuring my own age by milestones that occurred in my life, such as these:
Age 6: I am now in school and I am so much older than these other babies that stay home when I leave in the morning.
Age 11: Prep school. Those upperclassmen look like men, with beards and all.
Age 15: The Playboy centerfolds look like mature women.
Age 18: I am an adult now. I can do anything I want. Yet, I have no money, so I can do nothing at all. Help me out, mom.
Age 20: The Playboy centerfolds are my age. Holy moly!
Age 22: I just went to a party where most of the people present are young high school teachers. Geez, I am old enough to hobnob with high school teachers!
Age 24: I am the young guy in the room at work.
Age 26: The Playboy centerfolds look like young ditzes.
Age 28: I have a child. My life as I know it is over.
Age 30: I have two children, my life as I know it is really over. It’s now going to be twenty years of this.
Age 36: The president of the United States is only ten years older than I.
Age 40: The Playboy centerfolds could be my daughters. I had better stop buying Playboy.
Age 45: I am the oldest guy in the room at work. Everybody listens to me.
Age 52: The president of the United States is five years younger than I. Shit! What happened to my life?
Age 56: My doctor is younger than my daughter!
In no time I’ll be older than George Burns!