You Know You're Old When . . .

. . . your Little Sister, who once wanted to be just like you, is now horrified by what you've become.

Let me explain. On Michelle's 15th birthday, Rod and I took her to see Spiderman at the Imax. Now, when the word "Spiderman" is mentioned, endorphins are released into my husband's brain, and he starts kicking and punching unseen villains. The release of the third instalment was no small event: Rod's brain was drenched in chemicals and the air surrounding him was reeling from the impact of his blows.

After the movie (when Rod had finally stopped twitching), Michelle lapsed into a dreary adolescent silence. Naturally, Rod and I started discussing the movie's plot.

At last Michelle spoke up from the backseat. "Do you guys always do all of this . . . this . . . analyzing?" she asked, allowing the most corrosive word conceivable to drip from her tongue. "Do people really become this boring when they get old?"

Worried that the preposterous nature of this moment might be lost on us, Michelle said, "We do this sort of thing in English class. We talk about theme. We talk about setting. We talk about verisimilitude. Have you guys lost your minds? I feel like I'm in English class."

She began writhing in the backseat. Our analysis had clearly unleashed a torrent of bad chemicals in her brain.

Rod immediately launched into a discussion about make-up and hair, while I pondered Michelle's words.

I remember viewing the elderly first with awe, and then with scorn. At the tender age of seven, I had thought the nine-year-old Orphan Annie was it--sophisticated beyond her years, the pinnacle of womanhood. At age ten I was astounded that I would be THIRTEEN when the Olympics came to town. By age 20, my friend Kathy and I had begun a tradition of lamenting our mortality on our birthdays. I thought that life would be over by my early thirties.

Now, at 32--THIRTY-TWO!--I realized that aging isn't as bad as a brand new 15-year-old might think. Yes, Rod and I analyze everything to death, but we're fine with that. We're in this "aging thing" together, after all. Furthermore, I now get paid to analyze--and to be in English class. And the things that once struck me as unspeakably dull--conversing with adults, staying home for the evening, and cooking a meal--are now satisfying.

Perhaps I've aged, but things could be much worse. I could be Michelle's age.