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I might not be as old as you, but give it time

There seem to be a million different things each day that remind us that we’re constantly getting older.

Maybe it's a new song on the radio whose lyrics you can't understand. Maybe it's a new cell phone with buttons so small you need a toothpick to press them.

Maybe it's just watching a bunch of college freshmen, excited for their first week on campus.

Last night I went with my roommate, Gazette reporter Kayla Bunge, to the "R U Purple?" event at UW-Whitewater. She was covering it for today’s paper, and, as is usually the case, I had nothing better to do except watch Barack Obama’s speech on TV. (I taped it.)

UW-Whitewater is trying a new thing this year. For its new "Club U Dub Dub" orientation program, all the incoming freshmen were put into small groups, each with an older peer mentor. After touring the campus and getting acclimated to their rooms and whatnot, they had a big rally and then rushed into Perkins Stadium, where they were greeted by throngs of UW-Whitewater students welcoming them to campus. The new freshmen learned the UW-W fight song and the Warhawk Strut, so they'll be able to celebrate properly at Warhawks sporting events. Afterward, they went out onto one of the campus streets to paint the blacktop purple, leaving an indelible mark (at least for the time being) on campus.

Now, here in the newsroom, conversations often come up about how old people are getting (especially amongst the grizzled veterans who've been here longer than some of us have been alive). I don't often get in on these subjects. I'm the baby of the Gazette editors—the youngest by about 15 years. So the second I venture a quip about how I'm feeling older and older, I'm shot down pretty quickly. ("I was doing your job when you were in diapers," and the like.) And I get it; if you're 25 years older than me, it's easy to dismiss my thoughts on how college freshmen seem young.

You're right; I'm not that old. I graduated from UW-Milwaukee almost three years ago, and I still have friends there. We had the Internet at my elementary school. We got cable TV when I was 3. I have no memory of moon landings or the Vietnam War or Jimmy Carter in the White House. Actually, the day I started work at the Gazette in January 2006, reporter Marcia Nelesen thought I was a lost kid looking for his parents.

But I'm not that young, either. I was born the week that Michael Jackson released "Thriller." The biggest movie in theatres then was "E.T." I remember at one point asking my dad if he was going to vote for Michael Dukakis or George Bush. I remember the Berlin Wall, Mikhail Gorbachev, Exxon Valdez, and how they used to put those little icons on all the TV shows that let us know they were (!) "in stereo where available."

So, my friends and colleagues, just remember, perception is all relative.

I stood off to the side at Perkins Stadium last night, watching these kids run in, all high-fives and hand-slaps, and I thought to myself, "Oh my God. These kids are young."

Which, of course, means that I'm getting old.

Maybe not as old as you, but I'm on my way.

Now, to be fair, I could've still blended in with those kids last night. I look a lot like them. I probably talk a lot like them. I don't feel particularly old, which is a good thing, because thanks to our ever-expanding life expectancy, I've got decades yet to feel aged and creaky (and a bit wiser, I hope). I've got a newsroom full of older colleagues who can constantly remind me of just how young I actually am—even if it's with a fleeting look of envy on their faces.

At UW-W, the kicker came when the school's athletic director was telling the freshman about how Perkins Stadium was built in 1969. He asked the students what year they were born.

One kid right near where I was standing yelled out, "1990!"

Nineteen-ninety! These students were 11 when I was a freshman at UW-Milwaukee. And then it was my turn to look on with a hint of envy. I think even Kayla (two and a half years younger than me) and our photographer, Matt (four and a half years younger), were surprised.

So, you might be older than me, but trust me, I'm getting there, slowly but surely. And I'm seeing more and more moments that remind me of this fate to which I'm resigned.

Luckily, I've got my fellow copy editor, Shawn, to comfort me here in the office. I was telling him today about my experience last night in Whitewater. His response?

"Yeah, you’re going to have a bunch of those moments."