age old reality
I am not usually bothered by my age. I enjoyed turning thirty, and the following year thirty-one was even better. Even the prospect of thirty-two has little effect on me. But last week when I realized that my little brother would be turning thirty today, my stomach got all queasy and I felt a little light-headed. (Hold on… I [breathe in] need to take a moment [breathe out… s..l..o..w..l..y..] to compose myself.) My age never bothers me, so why does his age have me all worked up? It’s just like the boy to torment me with little effort. [gulp] I suppose I can’t call him ‘the boy’ anymore now that he is thirty.
The reality that I am old enough to have a younger brother old enough to be thirty was a bit of a shock. [breathe… breathe…] I’ll get over it by-and-by… Knowing my luck it will be right before the next sibling turns thirty. [Whoa. I’m gonna have to brace myself for that one!]
Charles, congrats on making it to thirty without putting one of your sisters in a straightjacket. (And NO that doesn’t mean you should try harder over the next thirty years!) I really am proud of what you’ve accomplished in your thirty years. I know the next thirty will be even better! I love you more than words can say and more than I care to admit on some days. :) Happy birthday, little brother.