My youngest child just turned The Big Three O. My other two grown kids reached The Big Three O earlier. Since my joke, as each of my own birthdays comes around, has been for year that I'm once again turning thirty-seven; I suppose, maybe, I should add a few years to the age I claim to be each year.
Nah... There was a time when I thought I really shouldn't set my age to where my kids would soon be older than I. That was before I was old enough and smart enough to realize that there is no math in make-believe; and sometimes there's no real harm in a little make-believe either.

There may come a time in my own life when I start to worry about possibly be seen as "in my second childhood". I'm a long way off from that, though. Heck, I'm only thirty-seven. I just may turn twenty-five on my next birthday.

Oh, the perspective and wisdom that comes from being "thirty-seven" (or "twenty-five") and have all three of one's children having reached The Big Three O. (It turns out, that The Big Three O really is a lot younger than so many people realize when they, themselves, are in their thirties.