I remember being in kindergarten and thinking that the sixth-grade girls who would help the teacher watch us little kids almost seemed like grown-ups— they were 12.
My daughter noted the other day that sometimes toddlers seemed adorable to her suddenly, and that that must be a sign of growing up.
She’s ten.
The metrics are always changing.
When you’re fifteen, someone who is thirty is a full lifetime away and seems quite old.
When you’re ten, someone who is forty is three full lifetimes away—they practically seem to be tongue kissing death!
And when you’re twelve…
When you’re twelve, you are a menace to all of humanity except your fellow twelve-year-olds.
To yourself and all fellow-twelve-year-olds, you are golden Gods.
12-year-olds begin to feel modern and also that this is their time.
That feeling intensifies through the 18th year and goes “pop” at 25, when one reckons with being a quarter of a century old and, in a certain way, over the hill.
The data informs the sentiment negatively.
Today’s song addition to the Mixed Up files considers all of these nuances.
It’s possible that the best thing about this song is that it concludes with a whooppie cushion explosion— and it’s also possible that this is a very good song.
Either way, it’s just an idea that I tracked the other morning —Saturday, September 23, 2023— sitting on the chaise while my children frolicked nearby, which was interrupted by a loud farting sound.
i remain your humble servant,
OX&C,
Faux Jean