You've Got To Fight For Your Right... To Have a Reasonable Amount of Fun and Still Take Care of Your Kids the Next Day.

A few weeks ago my wife and I attended one of the best parties we have been to in quite a while.

No. There were no bowls of keys involved. Get your minds out of the gutter! Just because I am old doesn't mean I still think it is the 70s.

I think we all know whose key those guys were hoping to pull.

I am only 46... but in steemit years I am ancient. Most of you young whippersnappers would have probably thought this party was incredibly lame (is that still a word people use?). But the criteria for a successful party changes throughout one's life. Trust me. You'll find out.

When I was 5, the measure of a successful party was directly correlated with the number of creepy clowns present at the party, and the gifts I received. If the number of clowns and number of pairs of socks I received were both 0... then it was a pretty successful party. Let me throw in one more. There was one other item that I wanted to limit to 0: the number of pairs of smiley face covered purple bellbottoms which perfectly matched the ones my older sister had. Nothing Everything makes a five year old boy happier than having to be one half of the Bobbsey Twins* with his sister.

Not the actual pants. Mine were uglier and far less comfortable.

When I was 10, the measure of a good party was the lack of any icky girls showing up and the number of Star Wars themed cakes, decorations and gifts on the premises. Playing a little "pin the lightsaber on Darth Vader" also helped kick it up a notch... unless of course the lightsaber got pinned to a very unfortunate area of Darth Vader's anatomy.

Whoever won this totally cheated.

When I was 13, the measure of a good party... actually I have no idea. I was so awkward when I was 13 I can't really remember what was "good" to me. Perhaps it was simply not tripping over my own feet at the party and breaking my giant glasses. My guess would be that it somehow involved video games. Let's just skip 13... don't we all wish we could?

When I 17, once again, the measure of a good party depended on the number of girls present. However, things shifted from "please none" to "the more the merrier". But the lack of something also played an important role. This time, it would be lack of police... and creepy clowns. Creepy clowns suck at any age.

Ahhhhhh! What if it is both?!

When I was 21, the measure of a good party was the same as 17, but with one added criteria... survival. If you didn't do anything dumb enough to hurt yourself or others, that was an amazing party.

When I was 25, one more criteria was added: the ability to make it into work the next day. Notice I did not write, "be able to properly function at work the next day". That would be the criteria for ages 25 -33.

From 33-46 the measure of a good party was... Party? What party? I have kids! There will be no partying. Partying would take away from valuable sleep time. I have a soccer game tomorrow at 7:45 AM! So I guess the criteria would be finding something really good on Netflix to watch.

Party!!!!!!

Apparently I have entered a new phase in my party life. My kids are 10 and 12. They are actually fairly independent. I could probably go back to my 25 -33 criteria, but that would entail me finding other old people who refuse to let it go... or hanging out with young people. Because I don't want to be "that weird old guy" at the party, hanging out with the youths (yes people in their 20s are "youths" to me) isn't going to happen. I'd prefer to just be "that weird guy". Therefore, it's time for a new success criteria.

This new criteria is incredibly simple and concrete. The success of a party is directly correlated to the number of times I check my phone. I noticed this phenomenon at the party I referenced earlier. We arrived at the party at 5:30 PM. I did not check my phone until it was nearly 11:00 PM. I was too busy talking and laughing to bother checking the football scores, the news headlines, the latest Star Wars rants, my children's bedtimes, or even.... gasp... steemit.

Perhaps 21 year old me would want to punch 46 year old me in the face for setting the bar so low (actually he wants to punch me in the face pretty much every second of every day). But that's ok. He doesn't know that life changes and that I am actually far happier now than I was when I was 21. Besides, he'd probably be wasted so I'm sure I could take him.

Images 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

*For all of you whippersnappers, The Bobbsey Twins were the main characters of a book series telling the "adventures" of some little rich kids who were fraternal twins. My grandma reference them quite often when my sister and I were dressed alike. It sucked.

Because solving mysteries is a reasonable thing for 5 year olds to do. And wait! They aren't dressed alike. My grandma was a liar!