One night last week, Lydia and I were in the kitchen together, she emptying the dishwasher and I putting the finishing touches on supper.  We were talking about school and she said that she really liked her new art teacher.  I asked what he was like, and, among other things, that he was “young.”  I wondered how young, and she qualified, “Well, maybe not young, but like 30.  Not like 40 or anything.”

“Is 40 old?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Do you think Dad’s old?”

“Yes,” she said again, practically scoffing.

“Do you think I’m old?”

“No,” she answered.

“Oh, good,” I said.  “But I guess I will be in five years.”

Her head snapped up and she burst out suddenly, “Oh my god!  Are you 35?”  She shook her head in disbelief.  “I thought you were, like, 32.”

I swear, I could feel myself aging before her eyes.