Blog No. 31
It has been a whole half a year (give or take) and I am still managing my weekly blog. I’m pretty happy about that (even if my fiction writing hasn’t been as successful). Speaking of fiction, part two of my current story is up at Adventure Worlds. Also a really cool story from Christian is up too. You should probably go check them out.
I’ve come to that time of year that nine-year-olds and nineteen-year-olds love and the people closer to my age start to dread. It’s my birthday next week (in less than a week actually). If I were smarter or could think more than a few hours ahead I might have been able to match my blog number with my age too. So close.
The reason I am bringing up my birthday is that I am excited for a gift I am getting from my folks and it’s the kind of thing only an adult can be excited for. The whole thing has brought to mind something I had been meaning to talk about on the blog but I haven’t had an in to do it with. At what time in a man’s life does he become excited to get tools for presents? There are all kinds of lame jokes on facebook about you know you’re an adult when, but I really think there is a change in a man when tools become toys. It’s a step in the direction of adulthood and responsibility of a sort, but there is still a hint of child like exuberance. The tools really do represent a toy you can play with and find joy in using.
Age isn’t the major factor in becoming an adult, at least not in the way it used to be. I think it is a lot more about circumstance. We come to a point in our life when we have to step up and take care of the shit around us. Some of us plunge head first into it and some are dragged into it leaving cartoon like claw marks on the ground. And then there are those who just go to grad school. (Just kidding, mostly).
I think I fit into a blend between the first two categories – as most of us do. There are those aspects of adulthood that I have embraced (like working and trying to save) but there are tons of things that I have resisted (some consciously and some not). From the things I read we are all in a state where we wish we were more productive and mature. I have seen many instances of people confronting their lack of responsibility. There are jokes and comics and videos galore on the topic floating around the interweb.
One of the many (many) things I realized out of the wisdom my parents have bombarded me with is that the only difference between a person in their 40s and a person who is eighteen is that the people in their 40s are physically older and have had to deal with way more crap. The person inside of us still thinks of themselves as that barely adult mess who thought there was a day when you just woke up as an adult. It doesn’t happen, we just have more responsibility and less strength to claw at the ground with.
But that’s not what I wanted to talk about this week. I wanted to talk about how some time in my late teens I was given a screwdriver set for Christmas and I thought it was an awesome gift. There was something different about me from the year before and rather than wish it were a new action figure I was delighted (thought I would still enjoy a Lego set to this day). Also I am happy that I am still writing this blog on the regular schedule that I planned at the start of the year and I am excited that (even though I am way behind) part two of my story is up and I’m guilty that I once again posted immediately after Christian and took away some of the (possible) attention he would (and should) get for his latest story. You should totally go check them both out because you have just finished reading this post.
Ben Van Dongen 
HB Ben! You can keep writing forever if you really want to. It’s a birthday present from yourself to yourself! I received a coping saw when i was six. I cut up scrap wood and then borrowed a hammer and some nails. I had some difficulty with the little pieces of wood splitting when I nailed them , but I managed to make many small wooden cubist camels. I have my first screw driver too. It’s one of my favorites. And I have my grandfather’s hammer, which is beat up and rusty but I treasure it. Happy Birthday!
I hope that I do keep writing forever. I think I have finally accepted that no matter what I end up doing in life I will still be drawn to telling stories. I hope you follow the same advice. I have always enjoyed the things that you write (and I have seen).
I wish I were as inclined to build things as six-year-old you. I do sometimes make things, but the idea of working at the bench late into the night making things is a romantic one (much like writing into the night). Keep that screwdriver! I have my grandfather’s tool box and I’m never letting it go.
Thanks!