Many of us have doubled our age during the time we’ve frequented this site. Obviously, most of the folks who have passed through here are long gone, and though a few folks still regularly haunt the forum, most folks visit only occasionally for old time’s sake.
Most of us are not the same people we were when we first starting visiting this site or participating in similar online communities.
I imagine most of the members who still pop in are of a similar demographic as mine; most of us were teenagers when we showed up, and now have finished our educations and are established in our careers, we are getting married, raising families, buying homes and settling in for the long-haul.
What differences have you seen yourself go through in the last few years? Has your life turned out how you hoped it would? When you sat in front of your 166MHz Pentium Pro, your fancy 4MB Voodoo Graphics Card and your Sound Blaster 32, staring at your 17” CRT monitor, listening to the squeals of your 56k modem, did you ever think about where you would be in 15 years?
Are you happy? What makes you happy? What doesn’t? I’m sure none of us are exactly where we wanted to be. Are you close? Have you changed?
I find that when I look in the mirror, I don’t see what I used to. My hair is a lot grayer, my face more tired. I don’t see someone who thinks about video games and movies and computers and pimples and having to walk or ride my bicycle everywhere. Instead, I think about refinancing a mortgage, should I buy a bigger car, and who is the best pediatrician around here?
I also find that looking at my son is like looking in a mirror. First, he looks a lot like me. Second, he acts like me. He has the same short temper; the same crooked, sideways smile; the same devious, tricky, rebellious streak. He’s not even very old yet, but I can already see the parts of his personality that will be a benefit and the parts that will be disadvantage, because they are the same as mine. I find myself thinking about the talks we’ll have when he’s a teenager, when I try to help him avoid the mistakes I made, and how he’ll ignore me and do what he wants, because that’s what I did and that’s what all kids do.
My job subjects me to the worst people society has to offer. I se how evil men can be, and how little anyone can do about it. My wife is expecting our second child, and I find myself thinking about all the things I need to do to prepare these two kids for the increasingly damaged world we live in. I don’t think about Xbox One or PS4; I think about which school district to live in. I don’t think about seeing Captain America or watching Game of Thrones; I think about what I should or shouldn’t let little eyes see on TV, or more importantly, what those eyes see me doing or watching. I think about how to teach my kids right from wrong; how to teach them to respect everyone, but not to tolerate everything; how to be discerning enough to know who to trust, but not to become jaded or disillusioned when that group is painfully small.
I found there’s a part of me that I didn’t know existed. It’s the part that of me that is selfless. The part that cares more for my family than anyone or anything else. My son was underfoot one day when I was cooking breakfast in the kitchen. He had a toy that he was swinging around, and it caught on the pancake griddle. He yanked on it and the griddle tumbled down. Before I knew what I was doing, I was cooking my own flesh on the griddle so my son wouldn’t get hit. I had second degree burns on my hand and arm, but I didn’t care.
I also discovered there’s a part of me where something dark lives. Something that I had never seen before. Something evil. On a particular occasion, in the course of doing my job, I encountered a person who told me if he ever had the chance, he would find my family and hurt them. This was a man who had proven he had the will to do so. I broke dozens of policies and regulations, stared straight into his eyes and promised him that if he tried anything of the sort, there is no force on this earth that would prevent me from ensuring that the last moments of his life were painful, and I would be there to personally send him on his way to hell. I felt an intensity in my voice and eyes that I had never felt before. It was like Pandora’s Box had been opened and all of the darkness within me was unleashed at him. He didn’t say anything, but he got the message. I didn’t know that part of me existed, and I wish I hadn’t found out. I hope I am never in another situation in which that box is opened. I’ve never told my wife that story; I don’t want her to know about that part of my job or my person.
I also find myself thinking I am happier now than I ever have been. I don’t say it very often, but I enjoy being a husband and a father. I have heard and read people say they don’t want kids. They don’t want to bring new lives into this wounded world. They don’t want a family. They say they don’t have the right personality or that it’s too hard or don’t want to overpopulate the planet. I understand that, but I don‘t care about it. Families aren’t easy. They aren’t always nice. But who cares? They’re fun. They make you laugh. Sometimes they make you shout and swear, but it’s not often. I get more pleasure from watching my wife and son dance to crappy old 80s songs than from any video game I’ve ever played. I enjoy wrestling with my son on the bed more than any movie I’ve ever seen or any event I’ve ever attended. Our second child is due in July; we’re not going to find out the sex until it’s born. I get excited when I think about having a baby girl, and how I’ll dance with her, how I’ll have tea parties with her (but won’t tell anyone), how I’ll get all awkward and weird when she starts turning into woman, how I’ll stare down every boy who looks at her, how she’ll meet some guy and how I’ll walk her down the aisle. Or, we might have another boy, and I’ll take the boys camping, and I’ll teach them how to ride motorcycles and shoot a gun and replace an alternator; I’ll show them how to treat a lady by how I love and respect their mother.
I never thought about those kind of things before a few years ago.
I’m not even close to the same person I was in 1998; and I’m nowhere near the person I thought I would become, but I’m lucky for it.
Most of us are not the same people we were when we first starting visiting this site or participating in similar online communities.
I imagine most of the members who still pop in are of a similar demographic as mine; most of us were teenagers when we showed up, and now have finished our educations and are established in our careers, we are getting married, raising families, buying homes and settling in for the long-haul.
What differences have you seen yourself go through in the last few years? Has your life turned out how you hoped it would? When you sat in front of your 166MHz Pentium Pro, your fancy 4MB Voodoo Graphics Card and your Sound Blaster 32, staring at your 17” CRT monitor, listening to the squeals of your 56k modem, did you ever think about where you would be in 15 years?
Are you happy? What makes you happy? What doesn’t? I’m sure none of us are exactly where we wanted to be. Are you close? Have you changed?
I find that when I look in the mirror, I don’t see what I used to. My hair is a lot grayer, my face more tired. I don’t see someone who thinks about video games and movies and computers and pimples and having to walk or ride my bicycle everywhere. Instead, I think about refinancing a mortgage, should I buy a bigger car, and who is the best pediatrician around here?
I also find that looking at my son is like looking in a mirror. First, he looks a lot like me. Second, he acts like me. He has the same short temper; the same crooked, sideways smile; the same devious, tricky, rebellious streak. He’s not even very old yet, but I can already see the parts of his personality that will be a benefit and the parts that will be disadvantage, because they are the same as mine. I find myself thinking about the talks we’ll have when he’s a teenager, when I try to help him avoid the mistakes I made, and how he’ll ignore me and do what he wants, because that’s what I did and that’s what all kids do.
My job subjects me to the worst people society has to offer. I se how evil men can be, and how little anyone can do about it. My wife is expecting our second child, and I find myself thinking about all the things I need to do to prepare these two kids for the increasingly damaged world we live in. I don’t think about Xbox One or PS4; I think about which school district to live in. I don’t think about seeing Captain America or watching Game of Thrones; I think about what I should or shouldn’t let little eyes see on TV, or more importantly, what those eyes see me doing or watching. I think about how to teach my kids right from wrong; how to teach them to respect everyone, but not to tolerate everything; how to be discerning enough to know who to trust, but not to become jaded or disillusioned when that group is painfully small.
I found there’s a part of me that I didn’t know existed. It’s the part that of me that is selfless. The part that cares more for my family than anyone or anything else. My son was underfoot one day when I was cooking breakfast in the kitchen. He had a toy that he was swinging around, and it caught on the pancake griddle. He yanked on it and the griddle tumbled down. Before I knew what I was doing, I was cooking my own flesh on the griddle so my son wouldn’t get hit. I had second degree burns on my hand and arm, but I didn’t care.
I also discovered there’s a part of me where something dark lives. Something that I had never seen before. Something evil. On a particular occasion, in the course of doing my job, I encountered a person who told me if he ever had the chance, he would find my family and hurt them. This was a man who had proven he had the will to do so. I broke dozens of policies and regulations, stared straight into his eyes and promised him that if he tried anything of the sort, there is no force on this earth that would prevent me from ensuring that the last moments of his life were painful, and I would be there to personally send him on his way to hell. I felt an intensity in my voice and eyes that I had never felt before. It was like Pandora’s Box had been opened and all of the darkness within me was unleashed at him. He didn’t say anything, but he got the message. I didn’t know that part of me existed, and I wish I hadn’t found out. I hope I am never in another situation in which that box is opened. I’ve never told my wife that story; I don’t want her to know about that part of my job or my person.
I also find myself thinking I am happier now than I ever have been. I don’t say it very often, but I enjoy being a husband and a father. I have heard and read people say they don’t want kids. They don’t want to bring new lives into this wounded world. They don’t want a family. They say they don’t have the right personality or that it’s too hard or don’t want to overpopulate the planet. I understand that, but I don‘t care about it. Families aren’t easy. They aren’t always nice. But who cares? They’re fun. They make you laugh. Sometimes they make you shout and swear, but it’s not often. I get more pleasure from watching my wife and son dance to crappy old 80s songs than from any video game I’ve ever played. I enjoy wrestling with my son on the bed more than any movie I’ve ever seen or any event I’ve ever attended. Our second child is due in July; we’re not going to find out the sex until it’s born. I get excited when I think about having a baby girl, and how I’ll dance with her, how I’ll have tea parties with her (but won’t tell anyone), how I’ll get all awkward and weird when she starts turning into woman, how I’ll stare down every boy who looks at her, how she’ll meet some guy and how I’ll walk her down the aisle. Or, we might have another boy, and I’ll take the boys camping, and I’ll teach them how to ride motorcycles and shoot a gun and replace an alternator; I’ll show them how to treat a lady by how I love and respect their mother.
I never thought about those kind of things before a few years ago.
I’m not even close to the same person I was in 1998; and I’m nowhere near the person I thought I would become, but I’m lucky for it.