25 going on 50
by Jennifer Cohron
Oct 30, 2010 | 1864 views | 0 0 comments | 22 22 recommendations | email to a friend | print
Jennifer Cohron
Jennifer Cohron
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I laugh when my friend Mary says that she is “almost 30.”

I’ve tried to explain that at 26, her distance from 20 and 30 is about the same. She still calls Zac and me “kids,” even though Zac is her age and I’m only about a year younger.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if Zac and I are a lot older than the year on our birth certificates suggests. An incident last weekend really brought out the geezers in us.

After the sun went down Saturday night, a Kurt Cobain impersonator started singing so loudly in Cordova that we couldn’t hear our television.

Zac called the police about our peace being disturbed and was told that lights were on at the Old Park. The ball field is about a half mile or more from our house. We couldn’t believe that noise coming from there could completely drown out the football game Zac was watching.

Zac went driving around to investigate. Meanwhile, I secluded a sleeping Wyatt in our bedroom because the singing/screaming had become so loud that I thought it was going to wake him up.

Sure enough, a concert was going on at the Old Park.

When Zac got back, we sat in the living room fuming about how they shouldn’t be singing so loudly at 8:30 p.m. that the whole town could hear them.

I still think it was a little ridiculous, but I also realize that Zac and I sounded like a couple of old fogeys complaining about kids and their darn music.

I first noticed that I had crossed to the other side of the generation gap when I came back to work after my maternity leave.

We had two interns at that time who were only a little younger than me. Our life experiences, however, were very different.

They were still in college, unmarried and deciding what to do with their lives. I had a husband, a kid, a job and a mortgage. Obviously, we weren’t going to be hanging out at the mall together.

My changing opinion of Taylor Swift is another sign that I’ve gotten older.

I love her debut single, “Tim McGraw.” It makes me think of the summer that Zac and I dated after my high school graduation. The memories of first love and loss come flooding back when I hear it, and I feel 17 again.

But her new songs get on my nerves. I don’t need a lecture on long-term relationships from someone who isn’t old enough to buy alcohol yet. What does she know about love?

I also have physical proof that I’m not as young as I once was.

A friend that I went to Gulf Shores with during my life-changing summer of 2004 recently mailed me some pictures from our beach trip. Six years has been harder on my appearance than I thought before I opened that envelope.

Not too long ago, I was dreaming about the day that Zac and I could stay out together past my weekend curfew. Now we’re making our way to bed by 9 p.m.

As if all of this isn’t enough evidence, I was actually called old one day by the daughter of a co-worker. I almost told her that Justin Bieber can’t sing, but I was afraid that I would be taking away her reason to live.

Zac feels the years taking their toll too.

Some of the foods that he loves are now giving him stomach problems, and even baseball is making him feel old. The pitcher and one of the batters in a playoff game we watched the other day were both barely 20.

“Baseball players are younger than I am now,” my lovable old fuddy duddy said with a sigh.

I don’t think we’re ready to check into the senior citizens home yet, though.

Last year, Zac and I had a blast on an inflatable water slide at a birthday party for one of his cousins. Zac said, “We’ve got to get one of these!” to which I responded, “We’ve got to get a kid so we can get one of these!”

Less than a month later, I found out that I was pregnant with Wyatt.

A few months ago, we bought the first two installments of “Toy Story.” We claimed that they were for the baby, but we’ve had more fun watching them so far than he has.

Having Wyatt around for the holidays is also making us both feel like kids again.

I even decided to dress up on Halloween for the first time since I was in kindergarten. I came to work on Friday as June Cleaver, both because I threatened to do so in a recent column and because the actress who played June died the weekend that column was printed.

I had a lot of fun dressing up Zac and Wyatt as Ward and the Beav so we could take a family photo to share with our friends on Facebook.

Who would have thought that the easiest way to stay young is to become a parent?