Tuesday, May 18, 2004

Enemies of Youth

I went to the Y this morning to work out, and there's a big banner outside asking people to contribute to their "Friends of Youth Campaign." Okay, first of all, I hate when institutions I already pay to be affiliated with have the nerve to ask me to give them more money, just because I like them so much. Though I suppose it's more forgivable when it's my $37/month gym, and not my $25,000/year university.

But my first thought when I saw the sign was, I am not a friend of youth. I really don't like youth. I generally want youth to shut the hell up and get out of my way.

Of course, by "youth," they mean "children," but my next thought was, wait, aren't I "youth?" I certainly don't feel old. I don't really feel much like an adult at all. I mean, sure, I've supported myself (more or less) for years, I have a career, an IRA, health insurance, a pet. I'm buying an apartment with my boyfriend, with whom I have fabulous sex. I'm clearly a grown-up. But I don't feel like I imagined grown-ups felt when I was a kid. I don't think I, or anyone else my age, looks as old as I thought 28-year-olds looked when I was a youth. Maybe it has something to do with all the 30-year-olds playing teenagers on TV?

Anyway, at the gym, there were these two children (real ones) running around unsupervised, and one of them got on the Stretch Trainer next to mine, and of course wasn't really using it and almost fell off a couple of times before giving up, and I thought, I hope he hurts himself. Damn kids.

Clearly, I've skipped "grown-up" and gone straight to "crotchety old man."

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