In the first Home Alone, after he gets into a fight with his older brother, he's forced to go to bed early.
His mother says, “Just stay up [in the attic] I don't want to see you again for the rest of the night.”
Kevin responds, “I don't want to see you again for the rest of my whole life. And I don't want to see anybody else either.”
“I hope you don't mean that. You'd be pretty said if you woke up tomorrow morning and you didn't have a family.”
“No, I wouldn't.”
“Then say it again. Maybe it will happen.”
“I hope that I never see any of you jerks again!”
(Sorry, I couldn't find a clip of this scene on youtube).

Growing up, talking back was never an option. I mean I got in real big trouble (read: spanked) for just rolling my eyes.
So I lived vicariously through this white boy that could express whatever he felt to his parents and all he got was to be in his room. That sounded more like a reward than a punishment. But I never dare try that with my parents. I'd be lucky to have a house to sleep in. I think I'm kidding…

Kevin McCallister was a big hero for the 10 and 12 year old me (that's how old I was when Home Alone 1 and 2 came out, respectively).

I caught parts of the first Home Alone this past Christmas season, particularly that scene.
20 years ago, I would've cheered for Kevin.
34 year old me looked at him and thought, “What a miserable, entitled, little punk!”

And then it hit me: “Uh oh. I'm old.”
When you start agreeing with the parents of movies geared to children, you've hit a new stage in your life.

Similarly, my wife and I were watching SNL (the day after, because we don't like to stay up that late on Saturday night — another sign that we're not as young as we'd like to be), One Direction was (were?) performing.

She looked at me and asked, “So, which one of them is this Harry Styles everyone seems to be talking about?”
So I googled One Direction — oh who am I kidding. I actually knew who he was. But he's the only one that I actually know the name of. Not that that helps my case… And if I'm being honest here, I only know who he is because of Taylor Swift. I know, I know. I'm making things worse for myself. My taste in music is not as bad as you may think. I love Nickelback. #sarcasm. #nobodylikesnickelback.
“The one in the middle, with the long hair,” I explained.
“Oh. That's him? I don't get it. I just don't get it. Actually, I don't get any of them.”
“I think that's the point. We're not supposed to get it. And the moment we start thinking they're cute, we become the middle aged moms who are more excited about the Twilight movies than their young daughters.”

I actually have no real point to this post but to reflect on my getting older and more out of touch with “pop culture.” At this point, I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

But do me a favor. If you actually know me, please don't let me become that guy who's acting way too young for his age. Please call me out if I'm wearing things like Ed Hardy shirts (or just dressing way too young for my age — but superhero t-shirts or t-shirts in general don't count) or forcing vernacular that is not meant for folks my age in conversations.

May I continue age with whatever dignity I can muster.

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