For once in my life, I feel dated. I’d heard my parents and even my older brothers throughout the years make a reference to something that would reveal their climbing age. I remember them saying, “Oh, wow, I’m really getting up there.” And all I would do is chuckle because I never thought that I would be as old as THEM.

Well, here I am, almost a fifth of a century year old and realizing that I may not be as “young” as I always had thought.

Even just saying the word “old” brings a sense of arthritis in my knees and makes the wrinkles a little more visible. But that’s not why I’m feeling old, no physical ailment really, just other things that I have started to notice as of late.

Take, for example, the Grammys on Sunday. Millions of people tuned in to catch a glimpse of their favorite pop icon and see who would end up winning this prestigious award in a variety of categories. Millions of people were glued to the television to see who, and what, would make up the infamous opening of the show.

And what do we get?

Prince.

Or the artist formerly known as.

Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled to see that purple suit again. My generation grew up on Prince and his identity crisis, I mean, change of name. But, I have to tell you, one thing thoroughly bothered me about Prince’s performance, and it wasn’t the reinvention of “Purple Rain.”

It’s the fact that people didn’t know who he was. I actually had someone say to me, “Wasn’t he from the ’70s? I think I may have heard of him before.”

I thought I was going to hyperventilate. They didn’t know Prince? The only way that they identified with the opening of the show was because Beyonce came on and did some back-up for the man himself. I almost feel bad for all of those people who didn’t almost start screaming with excitement like a 12-year-old girl when I heard the first couple of notes of “Purple Rain.” How robbed they were of a childhood icon.

Then, thinking about it, it was the 20th anniversary of “Purple Rain,” sigh. I’m not so little anymore. I have mere months before I shed the “teens.”

People in their twenties always seemed to have such an air of maturity, so much experience under their belts. And now, I’ll soon be one of them.

I find myself not needing to go out and party every night, not living off of the little gossip that high-schoolers feed off of. Instead, I cook dinner, go grocery shopping, stay in to balance my checkbook and pay bills. I attempt the crossword in the morning as I read the paper over a cup of black coffee. Aside for maybe an hour of television a week, I flip between MSNBC, CNN and the major network news.

Where did the carelessness of being “young” go? Not saying that it is completely gone from my life. I still go out and party, hang out with friends and have a good time. It’s just that now, it isn’t as crucial. I can stay in with a good book and not feel like I’m robbing myself of “status” or a good “ripper.”

It’s funny, though. Looking at where some of the kids I grew up with are right now, it seems like I’m in a different category. I don’t see them taking on the behavior that people I am with everyday seem to. Not saying that they’re immature by any means, but maybe this city forces you to take on a different mindset. It could be the higher price of living, the need to support yourself and almost being forced to grow up a bit quicker than other friends at different schools.

Very few of my friends from home actually have apartments yet. They still have suites on-campus, suites that provide cable, a land-line, Internet and furniture for a quarter of what I pay for school a year. They still go to the dining hall, which we seem to snub our noses at. For the most part they don’t NEED a part-time job, because all they need to pay for is alcohol. They don’t understand that I can’t call my roommate without a cell phone with a long-distance plan. They think that by going to grad school immediately after undergrad they can “put off the real world for a bit longer.”

I have to deal with the “real world” in July, with a full-time job, gasp.

I don’t really mind it though. Granted, looking back on it, I do feel a bit aged, but that’s not all bad is it? As long as the Brat Pack, Rainbow Brite and Prince are still remembered then everything’s going to be OK, right?

Who am I kidding. I may not be “over-the-hill” but I must be over something.

-Kaitlin Thaney can be reached at [email protected]