I forgot to have a midlife crisis!
I knew I should have written it down. I should have planned for it back when I was in my twenties or thirties, but I feared I’d just lose the paper. I know that you couldn’t buy calendars this far out, so it’s really not my fault. Besides, it would have been embarrassing for someone else to find a yellowed piece of paper with faded writing reminding me to have my midlife crisis.
I was reminded of this failure by a Car Talk column this past weekend. A man wrote to find what type of classic sports car would be good for HIS midlife crisis. His initial choices were shot down by the Magliozzi brothers because of the high likelihood of those models spending all their time in his garage needing repair. Doesn’t every guy dream of someday buying a thirty or forty year old car, lovingly replacing most of the parts in order to return it to mint condition? True, the cost is equivalent to what it would take to send every kid in the neighborhood to top-notch college and it would require tons of effort and gallons of sweat. But after all is said and done, you get to drive (drum roll please) a thirty or forty year old car!
Some guys see their midlife crisis as the opportunity to go carousing with hot young babes (HYB). These are the same guys who either couldn’t get dates in high school or who thought every female should love them as much as they loved themselves. I met my HYB a number of years ago and fortunately, the astigmatism that made me look tall and handsome wasn’t corrected until after we had two kids and a mortgage. We really do want to get out and carouse but we have to fit it in around soccer, t-ball and music lessons.
So here I am the anti-hero with regard to midlifery. No sports car – I take a perverse pleasure in driving a Ford Focus. I’m madly in love with my wife. I’m busy with my kids. I gave up wearing most of my gold jewelry years ago – about the time when people said, “Mr. T Who?”
I checked with my financial advisor to see what I should do. She told me that since I’ve got grade and middle school kids at home I’m not technically eligible for a midlife crisis. The best she could recommend in my case was to get a small parrot; since I already have one, that’s as good as it gets.
When I was younger I acted like I was never going to grow up. In a way I haven’t, stopping at the “Parent of School Age Children Stage.” (Personal note to Manoah’s Wife (http://manoahswife.wordpress.com/) – I didn’t just steal your blog idea. I actually was working on this blog when I realized that this part of it sort of fit into your idea.)
I’d like to wallow more in my self-pity, but I don’t have time. Apparently there’s a cicada on the trampoline in the back yard and that I need to remove it because; a) it is scary looking and b) the kids don’t want to hurt it.