I don't want to be the grown-up...

Wondering where his coolness went...

I remember the day it happened like it was yesterday. Only it was 21 years ago.

My wife and I had moved into a rent house when our oldest daughter was born (kids & apartments didn't work together in my mind then). I was in the alley behind the house, talking with the neighbor who lived behind us. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, probably about 70 degrees and sunny. It was late Sunday afternoon, probably about 4:00. Suddenly we heard the unmistakable sound of a six pack of empties being dropped from a car.

Being only one house up the alley from the street, we took off running. While we weren't in time to "catch" them, we were able to yell and holler enough that the culprits accelerated rapidly to the next corner, where they disappeared with a whoop and a holler. Music, laughter and taunts washed back on us like the wake of a ski boat meeting beach sand. Phil and I looked at each other, picked up the paper bag of busted bottles and went back to our lives.

But at that moment, I knew mine was forever changed. That was the first time I assumed the role of "The Grown-up." From then on, I knew that I was expected to be the one to chase the wild boys, chastise the impertinent pre-adolescent and uphold the honor of wronged daughters. It was like changing uniforms, a Yankee fan being forced to don a Red Sox jersey.

I still have lots of fun and many are waiting for me to grow up (including Stephanie, my wife). But I knew at exactly that moment that things were different.

When did it happen to you?