Every year, in October, I realize that I’ve progressed a little further towards Greenmount Cemetery. Several of my closest friends have birthdays that fall in October and November. My own is near the end of November so, when the first of these birthdays happens—today—it’s just a matter of weeks when, like a small row of dominoes, we all fall down and grow one integer further away from the year of our birth.

Of course, this was all quite amusing some fifteen years ago. Getting older is an accomplishment in your early ‘20s; people start to take you a little more seriously. Every added year makes you feel just a bit more sophisticated.

Now every year makes me feel a little bit more decrepit. Worse, now that I’m teaching twelfth graders, I’ve realized that most of the kids that are seniors in high school now were BORN when I was a high school senior.

There are advantages to aging; as well. Nobody gives me funny looks if I want to test-drive a car (they don’t have to know that, at almost 34, I still can’t afford one). Bartenders don’t bat an eye if I ask for a drink, and if I do get carded, it’s extremely flattering.

I’ve got to keep this entry brief (exercising the soul of wit) because I have to make plans to keep forty ninth-graders in control tomorrow. Nonetheless, I’d like to take this opportunity to salute the first domino, and a friend who’s managed to put up with me for fifteen years and retain some semblance of sanity.

Congrats to Whitneycita, WK, the Whitmeister on her 34th!

The good thing about best friends is that they DO know where you’ve been.