I’m Here For My Second Childhood
Because what if the first one was only a drill?
Second childhood gets a bad rap
We’ve all heard that term. It makes me cringe. In two words, just four syllables, it conveys everything there is to fear about aging. Loss of dignity, loss of self-control, loss of independence.
Loss, loss, loss.
Even Shakespeare takes this dim view in the famous “All the World’s a Stage” speech from As You Like It:
. . . Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Thanks a lot, Will.
Taken that way, “second childhood” sounds like an inevitable descent into helplessness and decrepitude. A repeat of the reasonless, incontinent days of toddlerhood, only this time with a wrinkly butt.
Childishness, as Jacques says, but without the cute and cuddly perks.
No wonder the global anti-aging industry rakes in over $37 billion a year. When it comes to selling skin serums, jade face rollers, hair dye, and all the other stuff we could honestly live without, nothing works better than fear. Not even sex comes close.
