As you get older, you walk through the door, see your reflection in the mirror and sometimes have trouble recognizing it. Youth drains out and a wisdom, hopefully, seeps in. In and around those lines in your face, there are memories. Like rings within a tree. Sometimes, my kids will stare into my eyes and inspect me up close. They’ll ask about my wrinkles and gray hairs. They’re investigating my age. They ask me, again and again, how old I am. And I answer them honestly.
I’m young enough to have fun but not old enough to know better.