Originally Posted April 12, 2013
As I lay in bed on the eve of my 8th birthday, I am not afraid of the imaginary lava that flows on the ground beneath me. I have only the beautiful thoughts of brand new pogs flipping in my head like dancing sugar plum fairies.
Life was different then. No dream was too big that it couldn’t be built with Legos. Winning the WWF Championship belt was a legitimate career goal. Back then, when I looked in the mirror, the big mystery was whether or not this boy would grow up to be more like Brett Favre or Fred Durst (neither one of whom had yet found their way onto my shit-list).
Now when I look in the mirror, the big mystery is if I’ll grow up to be bald like Jason Statham or bald like Danny DeVito. The inevitability of either situation is already more horrifying than any sort of imaginary lava.
My next birthday is in two weeks. I’ll be 26 years old. Not necessarily a milestone birthday by any standard, but things do feel like they’re changing.
This year will mark the last time I get to check the “single” box on my tax return. My two best friends have kids, more will be coming soon I’m sure. Things are going to be different. And yes, of course I’m excited about it. But it’s kind of exciting in the way that an ex-professional athlete is ‘excited’ about becoming a color-commentator. Yea, I know we need color commentators, but who the hell wants to become the life-equivalent of Troy Aikman?
For so many years, I could use “youth” as an excuse to be reckless. With my mind, body, and spirit. I never thought there were any real consequences for my actions. Whatever dumb thing I did, I did it because “I was young and didn’t know any better.”
Then one day I woke up and had my own insurance and was scheduling dentist appointments without my mom’s help.
At some point you have to realize who you were is no longer who you are.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m very happy with the person I’ve become. It’s clear to me that I’m on the right path. I just have different things on my mind than I used to. I’m able to feel previously foreign emotions like guilt, compassion, and empathy. I want to help people. I’ve realized that there’s a bigger purpose to faith and religion than going to bible camp in 7th grade to pick up girls.
I do feel good about the man I’ve become and the man I’m continuing to become.
But for one night, I want to digress a couple decades and remember what it feels like to be carefree. On April 27th, I will cling to my youth with the strength of a Ric Flair figure four leg lock and have the kind of happy-go-lucky birthday party my 8-year-old self could only dream of.
We’re going to rent Wrestlemania X on VHS. Armchairs will transform into turnbuckles as we watch our former idols battle to the bell with the same excitement we felt 20 years ago.
We’re going to eat pizza off of paper plates, 2-liters of Mountain Dew will flow with unlimited refills, and the ice cream cake will be colder than an uninvited tattletale.
You’re going to bring me a present – and that shit better be wrapped with a ribbon and everything. It’s going to be a cool toy like a Super Soaker, or a CD with Parental Advisory that my mom won’t let me listen to (she’ll later question what kind of influence you are on me).
What’s in it for you? You better believe you’re walking out of there with a bag of party favors. Maybe a pencil eraser, some stickers, and a yo-yo if you’re lucky.
And you know what, everyone’s invited. Because the great part of being a grown up is that I don’t need mom and dad’s approval on how many friends I can have over. (Although I guess starting next year, I’ll have to start asking my wife for permission.)
Just don’t forget to bring your sleeping bag, because this fucking party is going until “?”.