that's right. the Substitute Boy really isn't a boy, not in chrono years. he's a whopping 50 years and 24 minutes old (i can't remember what time i was born, so i'm just counting from midnight).

and i'll tell you, half-a-minute after midnight, the significance of being 50 kind slammed up against me like a Seahawks lineman who finally remembered what it means to block once in a while. holy crap.

and it's not that i hate being 50; i just can't be 50! how did that happen? ok, i get it: i didn't die yet. i was born 50 years ago today. but that's the obvious part, the part i don't care about. being 50 is more than age; it's being a certain someone, or something. it's feeling like something was accomplished. it's something, whatever it is, that i feel like i'm totally missing.

but that's just an impression of right now, the first few minutes of the second half-century of my life. in the morning, i'm likely to not even really recall this feeling. Tuesday morning, i'll be 50-and-a-day; i'll be back to business-as-usual.

because whatever i'm feeling, it's a fleeting thing. a momentary "wow" that comes probably more from the suddenness of the event: i was watching my clock, and suddenly it went from 11:59 to 12:00 — and bob's yer uncle, i was 50. click, click, boom. even now, simply writing through these first impressions, the flip side is beginning to show up: it's kind of cool that i'm 50. i was feeling old for my 40s, and i think i'm going to feel young for being in my 50s. when i'm asked my age and say, "i'm 50," i won't be feeling like my first half-century is slipping past; i'll be feeling like my second is off to a good start.

happy birthday to me. thanks, Mom; i miss you.