Family Daze
The 20-year-old who has never aged a day
By Debbie Farmer
You might as well know this about me right now: I'm having a milestone birthday this month. Oh, not an exciting milestone as, say, turning 18 or 21. More likely, the "you- get- to- check- the- next- age- category- on- questionnaires" type of milestone.
Believe me, I'm as shocked as you are. I mean, how is it possible that my physical body is in its mid-30s while the person inside it is still 19 - 20, tops?
Perhaps it's because I'm in denial. Or, perhaps, it's because I've never learned to act my real age. But I think the real reason is, and, frankly, I can't get anyone to back this up, that I mentally stopped aging in my early 20s, while the rest of my body kept going without my permission. So, truth be told, I am, in fact, a 20-year-old in disguise.
While this may sound OK to you, I must say one of the most frustrating things about this is that the rest of the world hasn't caught on to this phenomenon.
I know because the last time I went grocery shopping the teenage clerk said politely, "Ma'am can I help you carry the bags to your car?" Ma'am. MA'AM. Clearly he didn't realize to whom he was speaking. And on top of that no one even bothered to card me when I bought a bottle of cooking sherry.
I have my doctor fooled, as well. During my last office visit she even gave me a pamphlet on preventing osteoporosis and another one on menopause. And I think, although I could be wrong, I heard her whisper the word "mammogram" under her breath. Now, tell me, what is a 20-year-old to do with this type of information?
Now, you might think there are some holes in this theory. For instance, you could point out that there are few 20-year-olds on this planet who were born in 1966. Or who have varicose veins and stretch marks. And you'd be right.
But, then again, it sure explains a lot of things. For instance, why I say things to my children like, "Look at that interesting spider over there. Let's gently guide him out the door to freedom." When I'm really thinking, "Like, oh my God! Grodie to the max!" And why I'll never get used to using the word "phat" to describe anything good.
And there are other signs. Just the other day I tried to show my 8-year old daughter how to play tennis. But wouldn't you know that, while the 20-year-old inside me knew how to do a mean backhand, the stubborn 35-year-old body refused to do it. This was puzzling because I was thinking, "I'm going to slice that ball over the net down the center of the court," but all I could do was flail around and try to catch my breath.
Now, I just want to stop right here and say that I'm not one of those women who try to stay girlish by wearing miniskirts and piercing their belly buttons. I know my limitations. Besides, I don't really think the problem is that I'm looking older, rather it's that people around me have started looking younger.
Why just last week I was given a ticket by a policeman who looked about 16. And if that wasn't bad enough, I saw a blue minivan being driven by a 12-year-old mother with three kids. And my doctor? A mere child, I tell you!
But I digress.
Of course I don't need to tell you that the most important thing about age isn't how you look on the outside, it's how you feel on the inside.
So, if sometime this month you see a middle-aged woman standing in line in the grocery store with a slight paunch in her stomach and a sprinkling of gray in her hair, holding a birthday cake and a bottle of sherry, don't offer to carry her groceries to the car or call her "ma'am," Just smile politely and insist on seeing some ID. Because she is, after all, only 20.
Debbie Farmer is the author of Life in the Fast-Food Lane: Surviving the Chaos of Parenting. Email her at paradigm-tsa@familydaze.com
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Saratoga, California Since 1955
