Turning forty, as many of us have realized, has been a time of reflection on how much of an adult you have become. Many of us own a home, negotiate the purchase of our own cars, decide on where to vacation, where to eat, how the bills get paid and maybe even become a parent. Its interesting to finally understand that for roughly half of our lives, someone else, typically a parent, made the majority of our decisions for us. Its only been roughly 20 years since we've had full reign of our destiny on a daily basis. For those that have been to their 20+ year high school reunion, we know that those decades have passed faster than we ever thought possible.
But does the age of majority truly start at 18? This past week, for me at least, I found out that being an adult starts at 39. For me, I have found that I am truly an adult with the passing of my father about a week ago. I am no longer able to have a chance to ask for advice and I am unable to have a living historian of my life a phone call away. Not that he ever really played those roles for me, but having the comfort of knowing that I could at least ask someone some questions, some deep-rooted and meaningful questions, gave me a little comfort, because I was so young then; just one week ago. I understand now that I was truly a child, someone's child. I can understand that I no longer have the privilege of falling under the auspices of an older generation. Even though I am extremely close to my mother, we speak daily (inset your umbilical cord comments here) I now feel that I am THE generation.
I became an adult this week...Three months before my 40th birthday. I wish I could have stayed a child for a lot longer.
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