Turning 40 is a big deal—or at least, that’s what I thought as I looked in the mirror on November 29th this year, feeling every damn day of it. Forty isn’t old exactly, but it sure as hell isn’t young, either. And there I was, stuck somewhere between feeling like the Dark Knight of my own story and realizing I was more of a Batdad than Batman these days—overweight, a few grey hairs in the mix, but still rocking that Bruce Wayne mystique (in my mind, at least).
Breathe in, breathe out, I told myself. Today, I’d have to face the family.
When I emerged, the house was buzzing with the wild energy only an “all-family, all-ages” birthday party could bring. My son, 11, had taken it upon himself to “organize” the birthday decorations, which translated to about 20 crumpled streamers and a barely inflated balloon that read, “IT’S A GIRL!”—leftovers from some forgotten party. Well, it’s the thought that counts, I guess.
My 15-year-old daughter, arms crossed and looking way too cool for any of this, threw me a look that could burn through steel. “You’re actually excited to turn 40?” she snarked, raising one eyebrow like she was too good for this entire affair.
I shrugged. “Excited might be a strong word. Just trying not to have a midlife crisis in front of everyone.”
She scoffed. “Too late.”
Not a lot of empathy in that one. But hell, she’s resilient and tough as nails—traits she no doubt got from her mother, Ex-Wife #1. We didn’t work out, but I’ll always be grateful she passed on those survivor genes.
In the living room, I found Little Josie—my mom—parked on her scooter, wearing a look that could only be described as world-weary. “So, you made it to 40,” she sneered, her sarcasm coming through loud and clear. “I figured you’d at least have a heart attack by now. Too many late-night Ghostbusters marathons, maybe?”
“Nice to see you, too, Mom,” I said, flashing a smile. She was one of the few people I knew who could say something like that and get away with it. Her dry, pessimistic humor had always been a part of who she was. Secondary progressive multiple sclerosis had taken a lot from her, but not her razor-sharp tongue.
Big Josie, my 80-year-old grandmother, shuffled in, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor with the confidence of a seasoned war general. She peered at me through her thick glasses, giving a warm, approving nod. “Aaron, sweetheart, 40 suits you,” she said, beaming. “Now, you’re ready to take on the world, my big boy.”
“Thanks, Big Josie.” I could always count on her for the pep talk. She was meticulous and didn’t forget a thing—well, most of the time. Sometimes she’d leave the house with her reading glasses on and wonder why everything was so blurry.
Just as I started to settle in with a warm plate of… what even was this? Meatloaf? My son, as ambitious as ever, grabbed the remote and blasted the opening credits of Rick and Morty on TV. “We have to watch the episode where Morty gets the power to control time,” he announced, his eyes twinkling with a lazy kind of excitement that only an 11-year-old could muster up.
“Hold up,” I said, rubbing my temples. “That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”
“Come on, Dad, you love this stuff.” He grinned, flashing me that irresistible charm that gets him out of practically anything. He’d mastered the art of lazy manipulation, alright.
Big Josie chuckled, looking at me with a wink. “Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t see yourself in that, Aaron. You’ve been talking about ‘gaining power’ since you were a kid. Now look at you—turning 40 and still waiting for your superpowers to kick in!”
My daughter groaned. “It’s just embarrassing, Dad. You’re like a one-man comic-con.”
“Oh, come on! Batman, DragonBall, Ghostbusters—they’re classics,” I defended myself. “And besides, someone has to have hobbies around here.”
Meanwhile, Little Josie cackled in the corner. “More like hobby weight. Maybe try getting obsessed with the gym?”
Yeah, she went there.
“Happy 40th, Aaron. You know, they say life begins at 40.”
“Yeah? Well, if life begins here, then what the hell have I been doing for the last four decades?”
Everyone laughed, and for a moment, I realized something important: maybe the power I was looking for had been here all along. Not in controlling time or ruling the world, but in just surviving it.
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