When I was a kid, we used to get a newsletter from my school district every month. It had the standard things you might expect: lunch menus, news about the district, announcements and lots of other stuff you can probably find on a school website now.
One month, and I don't remember how old I was, I read an announcement that my high school was starting a hall of fame. In later years, they put plaques of the enshrinees on the walls at the entrance to the high school, although I don't know if it still exists and I haven't done nearly enough to gain admission even if it does.
But what I remember in particular was that to be eligible, you had to have graduated 25 years earlier. As I read that, I did some quick math, knowing that I would be 18 when I graduated, so even if I went on to a fabulous career doing something or other, I wouldn't even be eligible until I was 43.
At that point, I remember thinking two things:
1. 43 was old.
2. 43 was a long way away.
Today is my birthday. I'm 43. Next month, my high school's graduation will mark 25 years since I graduated.
Since then, I've gone to college and graduate school, gotten married, moved to Massachusetts and spent 17 years in my field.
And I'm not entirely sure where the time went.
No comments:
Post a Comment