How Long?

 Very soon now this spot in Al Gore's Internet will celebrate its twentieth year of taking up space. 

Two decades of what was on my mind that morning. 

Twenty years of writing a daily account of what I believe, or at least pretend to believe. 

This coincides pretty directly with the twenty-eight years my wife and I have spent living in our house. The one we bought. The one that has undergone a seemingly never-ending series of adjustments and improvements since we carted all our worldly possessions halfway across the city to barely fill the rooms in anticipation of our son, who would only be a couple weeks away. Much to our collective chagrin. 

On that day we were aided and abetted in the handling of our belongings by a number of people. Perhaps no one more than my younger brother who was willing to come along on this escapade even though he should have been celebrating his thirty-second birthday. 

This past week, my younger brother celebrated his sixtieth birthday. Just as I felt the need to reevaluate the term "little brother" when he grew to be a head taller than me, I feel now that "younger brother" is not the most accurate term to describe a sixty year old man. I get the math and all, but the relative distinction of being able to get his own AARP membership seems to suggest that none of us is getting any younger. 

Which brings me to the other chunk of twenty-eight years: My teaching career. My son. My house. My time in the classroom. Twenty-eight trips around the sun, just from slightly different starting point on the orbit. I felt this most keenly when recently I had a district tech come out to look at a couple of machines in my computer lab because they seemed to have leapt from my experience and pay grade. Of course, once the tech showed up, both computers had gone back to their own safe and sane operation. This gave me an opportunity to introduce myself to this new district employee. I went down a brief laundry list of the eras in which I have taught technology, beginning with a room full of Mac LCIIs and a couple tractor feed printers. We did a lot of KidPix and Oregon Trail in those days. 

It took me a few minutes of describing my journey through those twenty-eight years before it occurred to me that this person to whom I was talking was most likely not alive during a portion of the events I was unfolding. 

I tell stories about how things used to be. About how I wish things were. And about all the people and things I encounter along the way. Until someone tells me to stop.