It takes age to provide perspective.
Like turning 8.
As my daughter did this past week.
We were talking about birthdays, and she reminded me that I had one coming up.
I told her I can't remember how old I am anymore without doing the math. Let's see, 2009 minus 1954 equals . . .
At breakfast, she told the waitress it was her birthday.
Then she told her that she now calls me Father Time. Cause I can't remember how old I am.
Then on to Disneyland. The happiest place on earth.
She has an annual pass. I get in line to buy a one-day ticket.
When we get to the window, she again tells the story about Father Time.
The beautiful silver haired black man behind the window gives me a wink. "Only $70 for senior citizens."
Wait a friggin' minute. He didn't even check my ID. I just got carded the wrong way.
So as the day progressed, Peanut and I talked about aging.
Losing teeth is a key sign.
She told me one of her pointy teeth was getting loose.
"Isn't that a fang, daddy?"
"No, honey. That's only on grown women."
"Daddy, does anyone ever lose those back teeth? You know, the ones you chew with?
What are they called, your morals? Daddy, did you lose your morals?"
"Yes, honey. All of them. Before I was ten."