I’m counting down to the bitter-sweet (mostly sweet for the obvious “I’m alive” reasons) big day: my 30th. I have no plans for the milestone even though I’ve been talking about turning 30 since I turned 29.
I have spent many hours over the past few months thinking back to my youth and trying to recall the things that have shaped my life. What I have found is that I have a terrible memory. The worst. I suffer from what my dad used to call CRS – “can’t remember s___”. And what I do remember I have to run past my bothers to make sure I’m not making it up or that it really happened to me and not one of them. Luckily I have just enough memories to prove that I lived for the last three decades.
Well, I was born by the river, in a little tent. And just like the river… wait that’s Sam Cooke’s life. Me, I was born in the Florida Keys and I lived as a military brat for years. In those days we played. We played in the streets, the yards, the sidewalks, the pools, you name it. We played baseball, football, tetherball, t-ball, soccer, and any other outdoor sport you can think of. We played almost non-stop. We didn’t think about our safety, and to be honest I don’t think my parents did either. Not necessarily because they were bad parents, but because they didn’t have to. It was a different time and place. At Dev’s age we I was very mobile.
Now I’m pushing 30 and I’m playing with my boy as much as I can, and working. Work, work, work. I think I’m going to play more in my thirties.