When my grandmother recently turned 80, she decided that she would prefer to be 70. She asked everyone in the family to scale back their ages by a decade, to support her claims. My mother was fine with this plan, with her newly platinum, Breck-like hair (hi Mom!) she knew she could lose a decade or more quite easily. I however, would be left at fifteen, not legally able to drive, work, or engage in many of the activities that I enjoy. My brother would be twelve—luckily though, this would leave him safe with his video games. My cousins fared poorly, however, they would not be born yet in the world that my grandmother was fashioning for herself.

I dismissed my grandmother’s idea at the time, but now, on my 26th birthday, I’m starting to reconsider. Sixteen was a good age for me, I think. I can’t remember most of it, but the pictures indicate that I smiled that year. Perhaps it is time to finally cede to her wishes and start getting younger instead of older.