Today is the Leap Year Day. My kid is very excited about it, and I think her school is doing something to “celebrate” the occasion. I get the excitement, as I remember when a kid was, at this odd occurrence that happens once every four years. You know, like the Olympics or a Presidential Election.
When I was her age, we debated over and over again about people who were born on the Leap Year Day, how they would get robbed and only have a birthday once every four years. Or how they couldn’t buy beer for at least eighty-four years. I’m sure if we knew somebody who was born on the Leap Year Day, then we could get all of our questions answered. But being that we didn’t, these questions were left up to a continuous debate that only raged quadrennially.
Even right now, I could Google it and get an answer. Honestly, why would I do that? Why would I kill all the fun?
A big part of childhood is being confronted with these conundrums of life, and then trying to puzzle your way out of them. Most of the time they were solved by asking an adult, but first there was always the debate on the playground, or on the bus, or at the lunch table. There was always a kid who had a cousin who was born on a Leap Year who had to lie about their age to get a drivers’ license, and if the cops found out that they had lied, they’d go to jail. Or if you stay up three days straight, your heart will explode and die. This one kid’s dad was in the navy, and that why there are three shifts on a ship, so everyone gets a chance to sleep and no one will die.
My daughter was telling me some rather strange and far out explanation about people and their birthdays when it falls on Leap Year Day.
Good to know that kids are still kids, even in this day and age.
