Well, 31, here I am.
We sat around the table at OT Friday after hockey practice discussing our feelings on adulthood, in between fart jokes and throwing French fries. I admitted that, as a kid with two older siblings and parents with accomplished, engrossing careers, I couldn’t wait to grow up and join the world of adults. And slowly but surely I realized there’s no magical age where people start actin’ right. “High school never ends,” offered Mrs. Harrible. “And sometimes it’s even worse.”
So getting older isn’t an accomplishment in and of itself—it’s what you do with it.
Turns out, it’s been a good week as far as that stuff goes.
Sure, got a couple committee things going on. Meeting No. 2 with the Asolo Balcony Club this Thursday. Got a lot done at the last one; time to start getting down to the nuts and bolts of the big fall event. Good to get in on the ground level.
Likewise, the Ms Conduct travel season is ramping up. Met with the gals a couple weeks ago to square out fees, tournament schedules, fund raisers and whatnot. (Plus Mrs. Harrible and I are set to meet with Redneck Ophelia of the Sarasota Roller Girls to work out some kind of Partnership of Women Who Hit People.) Just another committee—ice time instead of ballroom rental; skate sharpening instead of centerpieces; sticks and jerseys instead of bands and caterers. It’s kind of like being a business executive, and kind of like running your own super-awesome cool kids club out of your treehouse.
The Ms Conduct were pretty well established when I started playing hockey six years ago. But spending this much time with it, feeling responsible for rosters, funds, practice turnout, team morale and whatnot, feels like really sticking an oar in, making something happen, getting outside of my head a little and really interacting with the world. Like what you look forward to when you get your driver’s license—the opportunity to take something bigger than you and have a say in which direction it goes.
But when it comes to big things getting going, the biggest thing that’s coincided with this particular birthday—which, appropriately, is also my father’s birthday—is that Dad’s written a book, a history of the Asolo that he’s been working on for years now. And not only am I really, honest-to-god editing the book, but he’s really, honest-to-god just found a publisher for it. (And a publisher recommended to him by local historian Jeff LaHurd, no less.)
No promises about what happens from here, but our whole family’s getting together this weekend over a celebratory bottle of bubbly. The Kegtacular pre-party’s gonna have champagne. If that’s not grownup, I don’t know what is.