Panther

It's weird when you talk to people your own age and realize just how much younger than you your husband really is.

And by you I mean me, of course. 

Yes, he is only 4 years younger than me, nearly five, and most of the time, it is no big deal. We both think alike, we both share the same interests, the same goals, we both want the same life, etc.

It's the little things, like what grade he was in the first time he heard Korn's debut CD or not knowing who Carol Burnett is, or not remember my generation's Doctor Who (#4, played by Tom Baker) because his tenure ended one year after he was born (granted, it ended when I was 4, but given that I caught up when I was 13 and my husband 9, I think you see my point). 

The thing that reminds me the most of our age difference is the years he remembers doing things. In 1994, I was running down Comm Ave in Boston, MA listening to the first Korn album, a freshman in college. In 1994, my husband was stomping pie into the new band room carpet because his band director hated him, a freshman in high school. Again, I think you see my point.

I'm not one to talk, mainly because I'm completely anachronistic. I listen to music from the 20s to today. I know television programs that existed decades before my birth. I watch shows generally delegated to the young and/or the elderly. I have odd habits that put me, at different times, with different groups of people. It may explain why my husband and I get along so well. Sure, we don't have a vast age difference, like some people do, but we do have a little trouble communicating culturally when I have to explain Tim Conway's ad lib style on the Carol Burnett show because he's never seen it. 

Musically, my husband is just as anachronistic. He knows music from the 60s and 70s like people who lived during those times. I'm out of the loop when it comes to the music he loves, but somehow, we make it work, even if he doesn't know who Mrs. Wiggins and Mr. Tudball are.