Be Careful What You Wish For

I'm blogging to you from 30,000 feet this evening as my wife and I fly to the Pacific Northwest for a little vacay before things get cray-cray on the work front. Until recently, both of us worked in higher education, which meant despite our commitment to be together forever, forever did not include the month of August. Unfortunately for Sara, I still work in the field of higher education. I say unfortunately because her birthday falls right in the middle of new student orientation, which is my program, and thus, she has not celebrated her birthday on her actual birthday (at least with me) in a bajillion years...okay, eleven, but who's counting? (She is). But more about that later in another blog post...likely taking the form of a blog-apology or an ablogogy as I like to call it.

The actual purpose of my musing tonight is to mourn the passing of my boyish looks. You see, for years, people would regularly assume that I was MUCH younger than I actually was. Each time, they would excuse their foible with the standard line, "When you're older, you'll appreciate your young looks." Maybe so, but in the moment, it was mortifying. Imagine being mistaken for a junior high student during your senior year of high school. Try appreciating being laughed at by the bouncer at a 21+ venue as recent college grad...in front of your (hopefully still) future spouse. These are not cherished memories, my friends, though I hope you are finding humor in my pain.

Especially as a young professional, remarks about my age never seemed to take on a complimentary tone. Parents would make a passing reference to my age, and I'd think to myself, "Yes, I look young, but that neither changes the fact that your son was caught hauling a keg into his residence hall room nor does it impact my competence in handling this matter." Of course, as a young professional, I'd let those comments slide, which probably didn't help my case...but I digress.

After years of annoyance with my boyish looks, I was looking forward to the day of appreciation. But unfortunately, that day never came, and it appears it never will. Throughout my twenties, I continued to be carded regularly and never found it flattering. At 30, the carding suddenly stopped, and while I was mildly okay with not being mistaken for 20, the transition was so abrupt, it was startling. It's not like I had achieved some new found maturity distinguishing me from the twenty-somethings nor had a gray head of hair sprouted overnight. In my mind, I looked/acted relatively the same, but to the rest of the world, I apparently was no longer...boyish.

Still, four years later, I still had a hard time believing that the identity that I had bemoaned for years was no longer part of who I was. That was until my last visit to Colorado State for my doctoral program.

After the last day of class, several of my cohort gathered in the pub of the student union for a drink. I initially did not plan to partake, but later asked a classmate to grab me a glass from the bar...which was about 30 feet from our table. The distance, folks, will soon be a critical player. From the bar, I heard my friend shout that the bartender needed to see my I.D., which made sense, so I stood up, turned around to head to the bar, and before I even took a step, the bartender said, "Never mind."

That's right, folks. Not only is Ben no longer mistaken for years younger than his actual age, that fact is clearly identifiable from up to 30 feet away. One could say that I finally got what I wished for, but I'm not quite sure I wished for this. Regardless, my boyish looks have left me, and some part of me, mourns that a little...and some part still wants to kick that bouncer in the shins.