NEWTON'S LAW: SPLITTING HAIRS ON DIFFERENCE BETWEEN FUN AND A GOOD TIME

Today we examine the difference of three decades, specifically those between the year of my birth, 1956, and that of my daughter's birth, 1986. If you recognize that immediately as a generation gap, you're technically right, but let's concentrate on what we understand and not what we don't.

Frame the discussion in this way: what is the difference between fun and a good time? There is a difference, you know, but without splitting a lot of hairs, we can boil it down to this: kids have fun, adults have a good time ... occasionally.

Fun is unrestrained joy, the pure stuff. What adults develop in the process of adding years the wistful endeavor called maturing is an inclination to temper all aspects of existence, the good and the bad. Stoicism becomes an admirable trait.

Those who don't conform to this are discounted as sophomoric, regarded as aberrant personalities. "That guy will never grow up," we say with some disdain. Maybe we should say it with awe.

To clarify this matter, let me give you an example of fun. My daughter turned five yesterday and there was more than the usual birthday bounce in her step. In fact, this whole week has been a exhibition of glee.

It seems that 5-year-olds at her pre-school no longer are required to take afternoon naps. In the tiny but closely defined culture of day care, this marks an arrival of sorts, a coming-out worth celebrating.

"Going to take a nap?" you might hear the voice ask of younger peers. "Yeah, I used to do that."

On the day she turns 16 and heads out to get her driver's license, I will tell her the excitement of that day won't match what she felt 11 years earlier when she didn't have to march back to her cot after lunch.

As has been my habit in recent years, I use the occasion of my daughter's birthday to file an annual State Of My Children report. Consider this a disclaimer: if you care not for children, or just my children, you needn't read on.

My oldest son is 15 and has settled into the casual (i.e. sloppy) demeanor of his age. His specialty is monosyllabic answers to questions concerning his life. Our conversations, transcribed, would read like a deposition.

He is now taller than I am, a fact he cheerfully reminds me of. His least likable tendency is to slap my shots in basketball. Fortunately, I still employ some measure of intimidation with him. After having the ball returned to my face several times, I suggested to my son that he might learn how to take a charge. Having been raised as a bright boy, he took the hint and backed off.

Expecting that to be only temporary, I'm working on a fall~away jumper.

My younger son is 8, with an ap~~t~~itude for natural science and a good night's sleep. If his taste for picking up and examining bugs and other creatures is sometimes disconcerting, his "early to bed, early to rise" habits are a parent's comfort.

He also has the most unusual talent for finding four-leaf clovers. Put him in a patch of green and he'll come up with one a startling number of times. Maybe this is what comes from looking for bugs. Still, I can't help but view it as a fortuitous gift.

My daughter has eyes that won't seem to hold back the life inside her and lips that rotate from pout to giggle in a microsecond. Her gift is gab and our house couldn't be noisier if located next to a pet store. While she no longer requires us to watch over all her activities, she talks to herself to such an extent that we only hope she has imaginary friends.

All my children have good health and easy laughs. For no good reason, I remain blessed.

As I drove her to school on the first day of her new-found freedom, my daughter allowed that if she got tired, she might go ahead and ask to lie on a cot. I told her I thought that would be okay. No need growing up too soon.