Parenting in Sussex: My children think I'm a dinosaur because I've been driving for 25 years

And so it was with rather abject horror that I realised last month was the 25th anniversary of when I passed my driving test.

At first, I just didn’t believe it was possible it was that long ago I first took to the roads. I kept checking the dates and recounting the years, hoping for an arithmetic slip-up to propel me back to youthfulness.

But, eventually, I had to accept that I have indeed been a driver for a quarter of a century. Actually, scrap the quarter of a century reference, that’s just making it sound even worse, we’ll stick with 25 years.

Even though it is undoubtedly a long time, it’s not like I need to look back in sepia tones to the days when I was first in control of a car. Not much has changed of that much significance on the roads (bar them getting ever-busier).

But as far as my children are concerned, it’s these kinds of titbits of information that place me firmly in the dinosaur camp.

Because, let’s face it, when you’re 11 and 6 the thought of somebody having been able to do anything for that long is unfathomable. To them, even being the age of 25 seems pretty grown up. The fact I’m 43 and was actually 18 when the driving examiner decided I had passed my test makes me ancient in their eyes.

I’m pretty sure they imagine that when I was first a driver, I was chugging along the road in black and white, riding a horse-drawn cart.

They hear about things that happened in the past, things that I consider fairly distant history, and ask if I was there.

Not that long ago, my son enquired whether I had a TV when I was little. Trying to impress upon him that I grew up in the 1980s, not the 1940s, is a lost cause.

Basically, if it happened before they were born it’s something that old people did.

When talking to my daughter about my driving milestone, she made a shocked face akin to the emoji where a blue and yellow figure holds its hands to its face. It also reminded me of Macaulay Culkin’s character Kevin in Home Alone when he applies his dad’s aftershave.

She said ‘oh my god, you’re so old’. I reasoned with her by saying ‘I know it sounds a lot, but I’m 43’, to which she quickly retorted ‘exactly’.

Ouch.

I know this isn’t new territory. Children have been busy thinking their parents are elderly for years. I can even remember babysitting for my younger sister’s friend’s parents when I was a late teenager so they could go to a 40th birthday party.

Even as a young adult, I can vividly remember thinking I just couldn’t imagine ever being as old as 40 and what a boringly grown-up thing 40th birthday parties at people’s houses sounded like.

Then, a couple of spins around the sun later and you’re having to console yourself by saying even though you’ll be 44 at your birthday later this year, at least that’s still closer to 40 than 50.

To sum it up in one-word, even to me being that mature in years seems ‘mental’.

I might just have to make peace being positively primeval as far as my children are concerned. And remember the overused but nevertheless true adage that growing old(er) is a privilege. I feel very lucky to have accrued 43 years of wisdom. Just go easy on the grandma comments.