It’s almost cruel, really.
I walked into the processing center as state law requires, turned over my card, sat down and smiled.
Not a full smile, certainly, we wouldn’t want to look the fool.
No, more a small turn of the lips, something that hopefully doesn’t imply malice and falls somewhere short of grimace.
Then the wait, and the “Nice day” here and the “He’s sixteen already?” there.
Finally it comes, the name is called and the moment arrives.
Two cards side-by-side, two faces that are similar but aren’t the same.
The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania says with a new driver’s license that I can operate a motor vehicle for the next four years.
Those two faces, next to each other but four years apart, say a lot more.
One has more hair than the other; one has more waist than the other.
The lines on the later seem more firmly etched.
Four years.
We elect a new President every four years.
We hold Winter Olympics every four years.
Children pass through high school every four years, making the inevitable march from timid freshman to cocky senior.
In the time between those two faces, my three-year old baby girl became an opinionated 7-year old first grader.
While I liked the guy enough in the younger picture, the other guy is wiser, more patient, more fully formed.
What time takes in some areas it gives back in others.
All in all, I have no complaints.
Still, four years from now, I may dust off my bicycle.
Riding that doesn’t require a picture ID.