It finally happened.

Over the Christmas holiday, I experienced the final rite of passage into adulthood. I’m a man now.

No, I didn’t get married. And no, no one will be birthing my kid nine months from now. To anyone who believes THOSE are the final rites of passage into adulthood, I suggest you visit your local Wal-Mart or shopping mall and take a gander at all the “men” walking around who fit those criteria.

Having sex or getting married makes you a “man” about as much as drinking Tang makes you an astronaut.

No, the final rite of passage for adulthood is when, collectively, everyone you know decides to buy you “grown up” gifts for Christmas and your birthday. Gone are the days where you receive video games, CDs and other forms of entertainment as gifts. Now you receive “practical” gifts — the kind of gifts you would buy your parents or grandparents.

And since my birthday and Christmas sit next to one another on the calendar, I got to experience this rite of passage in rapid succession.

Last year, I got DVDs.

This year, I got a set of spatulas.

Two years ago, I got a baseball signed by John Smoltz.

This year, I got a lamp.

Three years ago, I got a John Madden football game for my laptop.

This year, I got a mop, a mop bucket and a bottle of Mr. Clean.

Four years ago, I got Boss headphones for listening to music.

This year, I got a book on dating.

I’m not sure if it was planned this way or whether everyone in my family came to the same idea on their own, but every gift I got this year was practical and grown up.

Now, please do not misunderstand. I’ve been aware of my adulthood for quite some time.

I stopped wearing ironic t-shirts ages ago. I’ve never been one of those guys who wears baseball caps everywhere he goes. I’m not above taking an afternoon nap if the opportunity arises. I would be much more agreeable to attending a Michael Buble concert than I would a (insert name of young, annoying musical artist or band here). And whereas a decade ago I would refuse on principle to watch a Sandra Bullock or Drew Barrymore (or the like) romantic comedy in theaters, in recent years I’ve become open to the idea (provided the movie also stars Hugh Grant, who I find hilarious).

Nonetheless, I find the notion of receiving only practical gifts an interesting revelation. It means that not only do I view myself as an adult, but everyone around me does as well.

This is indeed a momentous occasion. To celebrate, I think I’ll drink a cup of herbal tea and take a nap. Or, even better, I’ll switch out the regular coffee with decaf in my work’s kitchen and wait for one of my co-workers to have a nervous breakdown so I can blog about it!

Okay, so maybe I’m not entirely grown up.