Approaching 40

They say it's when life begins, but to be honest I'm not totally convinced.

 Isn't it possible that someone simply made this story up to comfort a loved one, anxious about the inevitable decline into old(er) age.  I mean, come on, it is no more logical than suggesting that the second half of a game of football is always better than the first.  Of course, it can happen.  Down 3-0 at half time, there's nothing better than seeing my team win 4-3 after extra time.  In reality, though, I'm just as likely to see 11 increasingly tired and demoralised men going through the motions - longing only for the final whistle to blow.

Isn't it also true to say that one of the main differences between life and the 'beautiful game' is the fact that there's no telling when half time actually is?  Worst-case scenario for me, right now, is therefore the possibility that some ‘divine referee in the sky’ already blew up for the interval somewhere around my twentieth birthday, without me noticing. 

That would mean, I should now be playing (or praying) for extra time.

A sobering thought.

Looking back on my life to date, though, however much of it I've actually had, I'm curious about the fact that of all the birthdays my own father celebrated, it is his 40th that I recall most distinctly.  I clearly remember him saying to me how he didn't feel 40 in his head.  As far as he was concerned, he explained, there was nothing in him that suggested that he was anywhere near half time.

And here I am, nearly twenty-five years later, thinking exactly the same.

So just as my father marked out this day for me, I'm hoping that these short notes will be at least enough to give my own children some food for thought as they journey towards life's next milestone.

Kids, here goes...

I'm turning 40, but inside I'm feeling 5.  It may not make so much sense to you now, but as we sit around the dinner table together I often feel that, from the oldest to the youngest, we're all the same - all struggling to make sense of the world, all trying to fit the pieces together, all learning to trust, all trying to keep believing that the tooth fairy, Santa and the magical kingdom of Narnia really do exist.  I know that you will rarely see the child in me, but believe me he's still there: crying sometimes, getting scared often, stomping his feet occasionally, or simply looking for a hug and some reassurance.  Never lose this inner child in you.  Protect it.  Feel proud of it.  Love it unconditionally.

I'm turning 40, but inside I'm feeling 15.  You'll call it denial perhaps, but I still think that I should be able to beat any one of on the football field, at the latest game on the Xbox, or in just about anything we decide to do.  And not only because I'm your Dad, but because in my head I'm still 15 and as fit, dexterous and talented as ever I was.  I'm still as 'cool', still one of the gang.  And even if these days you have to give me a 6-0 lead and play me at Xbox using your 'wrong' hand, before you too quickly relegate me to 'the old man in the car picking you up after practice', just remember that one day it'll be your turn!

I'm turning 40, but inside I'm feeling 25. Twenty-five, I reckon, is a good age to become a Dad.  It's old enough to avoid starring in a teen pregnancy documentary and still young enough to be sure that I don’t get mistaken as ‘Grandpa’ at the school gate.  Even at twenty-five and with several degrees under my belt, though, there was still so much more to being a parent than I could possibly have imagined - and not just the practical business of how to change diapers, heat up bottles at 3am, or the 300 different strategies of potty training.  It's all the emotional stuff that really makes your brain freeze.  So, here I am, fifteen years later, finding myself learning something new almost every day.  Back then, I thought I'd have this parenting thing sussed by now.  But, oh no!  It's as if we'll still on day one.  Believe me, most of the time, being a parent is like living through an episode of Groundhog Day.

I'm turning 40, but inside I'm feeling 80.  Most of the time I'm fortunate that I don't feel my age.  But even if my shiny, new grey hairs betray who I really have become, even before I run onto the football field, I do feel older in one simple respect: if this was to turn out and be the moment when the full time whistle blows, I'd have no regrets and want you all to know that I have already lived a life so full, so enriched by your presence, that I'd feel pretty much the luckiest man alive.  Some men would need to live several lifetimes to experience the joy, love and peace that you have already brought to me. 

So in just a few days, the cake will be eaten (I'm hoping chocolate) and the candles will go back in the drawer until it is someone else's turn. 

And just in case you’re worried, rest assured I won't be writing anything like this again for at least another ten years. 

Assuming I get that far.

So how about that game of FIFA11?  I'm feeling lucky!