THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, August 13, 1994 TAG: 9408120099
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E7 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Bylines
SOURCE: BY STEVE STONE, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 98 lines
TO BE 18 again.
So many have wished it. But, hey, I am!
Never mind that a Sunday of softball leaves me creaking and moaning on Monday morning. Never mind that I can't remember the names of two-thirds of the people with whom I graduated from high school 22 years ago.
Everyone says I'm 18 again. Even the federal government, and they're never wrong.
Eighteen was - is? - great. I recall a time of hormonal indiscretion and discovery. Uncertainty about the future tempered by that marvelous youthful optimism that said, ``So what?''
An apartment piled high with unwashed clothes and dirty dishes was of no consequence 'cause, hey, it's yours. The parental units aren't in the next room - they're in another area code.
Life was lived night to night, party to party and thrill to thrill.
Not so these days. It's an embarrassing measure of how mundane my life has become that recently I was excited about shopping for a new refrigerator. Wow, those side-by-sides are really nice. And look at all that freezer space.
That's the way it is, I guess, when you mark the 20th anniversary of your 20th birthday.
The teen years are gone. Never to be recaptured. Or so I thought until the mail started coming a few months ago.
The first letter was from a Midwestern college. On the envelope was an offer to send in for a videotape of its campus. I figured the school must be hard-pressed for graduate students. In the trash it went.
Within weeks, a couple of more collegiate enticements arrived. To the circular file they, too, went. I assumed all were geared to getting oldsters back in the classroom. I graduated from high school in 1972 and from Old Dominion University in 1984. (I was on the 11-year academic plan.)
With the college stuff went several credit card applications. And some insurance solicitations. All unopened.
Until the day I passed puberty.
Granted, I thought I went through that mess a few years back when I started shaving. (Trust me, kids, you may think it's cool the first few times you harvest the peach fuzz, but it gets lame and tiresome fast.) But in the ol' mailbox one day I found a gift from the good folks at Gillette.
``In celebration of your 18th birthday, Gillette wants to treat you to the best shave of your life,'' read the note.
Well, gee, thanks guys.
``Turning 18 is a real milestone in your life,'' wrote Robert J. Murray, executive vice president of the Gillette North Atlantic Group. Golly, maybe if I work hard now that I'm all grown up, I can get a title like that!
But, hey, I'm not complaining. The gift is great.
No matter that I already use Gillette after-shave - it's much better than that green-water, stinging stuff I actually used when I started shaving. And while I've used the same Gillette razor for years, this one is shiny and clean.
Thanks, Mr. Murray, sir.
``The best a man can get'' is the company motto. Well, I got more . . . mail.
``The future is in your hands,'' screamed one envelope. ``Details inside on an extraordinary opportunity to jump-start your career.''
DeVry. Is this a college, university, trade school or what? I guess it is the Madonna of education. First name only. Anyway, they think I should enter their program.
Maharishi International University - there's a sheepskin you see everywhere - believes I should consider its Iowa campus, if I ``want a university where you meditate twice a day to increase your intelligence and creativity. . . .'' So that's what those legislators in Richmond are doing when it looks as if they've fallen asleep!
ITT Technical Institute says that if I go there, I'll qualify ``for 75 percent of the decade's job openings.''
Garden State Life wants me to have ``the financial security'' I need by paying rates that guarantee its financial security.
On second thought, maybe life insurance isn't such a bad idea. Especially if I accept this enticing offer: ``International travel; educational programs; free vocational training; free recreational facilities; good starting pay; free medical program; free dental program; 20-year retirement program; job security; rapid advancement.''
Yes, the Navy recruiters want me. Of course, they're shy. Their recruitment stuff comes in a nondescript envelope from something called ``LTC'' in Richmond. The Army wrote, too.
If I had any doubts at all that I am 18 again, the good folks at the Pentagon are dispelling them.
And there it is, in red, white and blue: I have to register. No matter that I still have a draft card somewhere that says I am 1-H - not ready for induction. Uncle Sam and Aunt Hillary want me. Now.
So, I'll be doing my duty and filling out my DD4 Selective Service card and mailing it in.
And I'll take another look at that envelope from the Marines. They want a few good men, and Lt. Col. R.E. Wilson Jr. says that's me. Starting pay: $750 a month.
Sign me up, guys. So what if I'm really 40. If you don't ask, I won't tell! by CNB