My eldest, the one with the book, turned 41 last month, which makes me considerably older. I look in the mirror and note the effects of gravity and that my hairline has slowly crawled toward the top of my head. My skin has also gained some tree bark qualities. Yet, it's still me inside, or mostly. I've learned some things about life and gained some knowledge, but maybe not so much wiser. I don't have much left on my bucket list, I'm pretty content. So as time goes on until whenever, and the tree bark gets thicker, and faces and names continue to disconnect, I'll remind myself of all the perks associated with getting old and that I can always be immature.
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