I was watching my dad eat when it occurred to me that when he was my age, he was married with two kids. At the time he grew restless with his uninspiring career and started a wholesale business selling mass-produced oil paintings - the kind that had lighthouses next to crashing ocean waves, or waterfalls next to snow-capped mountains. I was four at the time, and I kind of remember scrawling on the back of the canvases with a crayon. The sales were pretty meager, and eventually he went back to his old job as an aerospace engineer.
Me, with three months of this age left, I've traveled to some interesting places and met some interesting people. I've worked. I've played. I've cleaned a massive pile of liquid dog shit in my living room. I've passed (barely) the 500 mark on my Livejournal "Friend of" list. I've voted for Kerry. I've switched barbers. I've run over a baby squirrel and almost ran over his brother the next day, at the same time, at the very same spot. I've gotten a hangover from white wine.
I've read articles that have theorized that since we're living longer, people are getting married and having kids at much later ages than their parents. What will I be doing on Father's Day when I'm his age? Will I be chowing on chadolbaegi at a Korean restaurant with my wife and adult kids as a black guy speaks loud Japanese right next to me? Or will I be gnawing on a pork rib from the strip joint's lunch buffet, watching a naked, saggy dancer half-heartedly gyrate to "Funky Cold Medina?"
I'm guessing it'll be Option C.
Speaking of fatherhood, this is the best "That's Not My Baby" dance I've ever seen.