Growing Up

Growing old and growing up, of course, are two different things. You can do one without doing the other. It's not advisable, but it happens. In attempting to dunk a basketball at the age of 50, my aim is to preserve a sense of physical vitality and longevity. I need to believe that the end is nowhere in sight. But because my goal involves a basketball, I suppose it's possible to assume that I am also attempting to forestall the aging process emotionally, to maintain that eager immaturity that in grown men is often referred to as "boyishness."

Let me give a big fat "no" to that one. For me, boyishness is so ten years ago. Or maybe seven or eight. I don't remember exactly when, but I do remember making a conscious decision to ... well, for want of a better term, act my age.

Guys who don't act their age have become something of a pet peeve of mine. They are celebrated on the big and small screens, and that just annoys the hell out of me. In comedy, particularly, no other portrayal of men seems permissible anymore. The central figure of so many films and TV shows is the lovable oaf who just won't grow up. In other words, he runs from responsibility as if it were a hungry lion. Typically, he just wants to have a good time hangin' with his buddies, but some force--usually an incredibly beautiful woman--compels him to change. A recent and very popular example of tihs was the movie "Knocked Up," or as I like to call it, "According to Jim: the Early Years." (Think about it--he's an overweight slob, she's a beautiful blonde; one could easily read that movie as the story of how TV's Jim and whatever his wife's name is met.) I understand that the fun-loving guy is a more obviously comic figure, but could we at least try something else?

I confess that for many years I affected a certain boyishness. But that ended about ten years ago, while on vacation in Miami with my wife. Sightseeing in some fancy-pants hotel, I found myself surrounded by a bunch of very business-y looking guys in suits. They seemed capable and in charge. I felt like a child among them, less mature, even though at 41 I was actually older than most of them. I realized then that my "boyishness" was nothing more than my fear of being ultimately responsible. In other words, I was afraid to be the guy with whom the buck stops. Hence my retreat to boyishness, because nobody would put a boy in that role. I immediately realized how pathetic that was and vowed to change. I went home, shaved away the haircut I'd had since high school, started wearing shirts with buttons, grew some facial hair and began the difficult task of updating my perception of myself. I guess that's why whenever I see some 40-year-old jackass in baggy shorts with his cap on backwards I just want to spit with rage. I figure if I can grow up, you can, too.

So don't confuse my quest to dunk with some Peter Pan-ish desire to be young forever. I want to live forever, sure, but, I promise, I'll always act my age.