As an old man in the schoolyard between the teenage mothers who were in my son’s class | Family

So I always thought it was horrific to turn 50 and then actually be it. That’s what I thought of 40, by the way: gray hair for the lucky ones, coves for the poor. And at 30: end of childhood, never go out and dance on the bar again, because children have to be born and to spend 40 hours behind a lousy desk. 20 wasn’t bad, that was just cool, when you’re 20 you’re big. That was just so long ago that I mainly have black and white memories of it, on narrow film, because now I’m 50.

50 is the beginning of the end, the last sprint towards the urn or self-crocheted shroud, which you have molded yourself, with colorful children’s bread sheets. A slideshow that shows you’ve been getting fatter since you were eighteen. A tear-jerking speech you wrote yourself. Sometimes I forget that I am already so terribly old, but luckily I have children who lovingly remind me of it. ok boomer†

But even without words I realize it often enough, because I still have a toddler walking around here. I often get that from school and then I stand there as an old man among the fresh teenage mothers. Mothers who were still in class with my oldest son. The toddler also likes to play with his father. For example, he likes to play Monopoly with me. He calls it monie the pony and we don’t do streets, houses and hotels. Initially he never went to De Gevangenis because that was obviously not fair, but step by step I got the idea that De Gevangenis is part of the game.

Losing is not part of it, that’s another thing, “You can never win, Daddy,” but that will be fine too. Now, however, he has come up with a nice twist: he sits on my neck and then throws the dice behind the couch and then we go get it. I have to bend down so he can grab it, so my back is already broken in three places and falling forward with the sweet pig on my neck has already caused bleeding and tears in several hemispheres of the brain. That was quite different when the oldest was so small, about three centuries ago. Then I roller-skate with the child under my arm over ditches while I called my mother and in the meantime also answered an e-mail and while singing children’s songs went shopping at the Jumbo.

What no one tells you is that there are also benefits to becoming Abraham. When you are 50 you don’t have to make a career anymore, because with that you are of course much too late, nobody is waiting for you in that regard. Most of your children are old enough to take care of themselves and only 35 years old and you can – with a little luck – retire. So it’s not that bad, I can assure you. So if you’re thinking about turning 50 soon: let it go and let yourself go, I say out of full gray curly-haired chest: just do it. You will definitely like it, you really don’t have to postpone it to next year.

However, don’t try to look like a 20-year-old, because then you’ll look like an old mountain goat. So no tight trousers that make your tripe stick out or those expensive colorful Hugo de Jonge shoes that make people laugh and pee their pants when you parade past. Stick with it and realize that if someone yells “boomer,” it’s about you. Realize that you won’t understand all the new jokes. For example, my 11-year-old elf had a fun one where it all went wrong: “Daddy, can you jump higher than the Eiffel Tower?” Well no, I don’t get that high, maybe in the past, but I’m 50 now. “Haha, the Eiffel Tower can’t jump at all!”