I have always sucked at the “How Old is That Kid?” game.

Seriously.  I could look at a kid in swaddling blanket and a hospital beanie and say, “what, he’s like 3…right?”

“So…  What do you do for a living?”

But I’d always assumed that, once I became a father, determining the age of a random children would become easy.  I figured I’d stroll by in my corduroy jacket with elbow patches, smoking my pipe, and smile wistfully at little ones while saying things like, “Ah…14 1/2 months.  Magical time, that.”

But you know what?  I still have no friggin’ idea how old kids are.

And the weird thing is, as opposed to the guy that I was before I became a father, now I actually want to know.

I mean, I’ve always liked kids.  But after you become a parent you start to love kids, you know?  And you want to know more about them.

I grin like an idiot at the little ones I see in the mall during my daily lunch walks.  (Which probably make their parents a bit nervous, come to think of it.  I am a scary man, after all.)  And I while I’m better than I used to be at judging their ages, I’m still terrible at it.  Now I just assume they’re all, “around 2.”

I’ve also determined that there’s no way for a grown man, walking by himself, to ask how old someone’s kid is.  At least not without sounding like someone you want to get your kid away from as quickly as possible…

j.s.