My daughter and I come from very different generations. This first paragraph is absolutely, 100% my perception and my opinion; and I am categorizing or generalizing in a way that I have not researched as fact– not with my academic hat nor my journalism skills. Her generation (let’s call it born around 2000) loves labels. Even when that generation rejects labels, they put new labels on concepts they rebel against.

It took me until I reached my fourth decade to consider, accept and adopt the identity of someone with a disability. The Teenager, on the other hand, studies identities, labels and the DSM as a part of understanding who she is and how she interacts with the world. She ponders whether or not I have OCD, if her father has ADD, but she also has her own ADHD mind, and her hearing loss, which is a powerful combination.

I call her my tornado, but in reality she might be more of a thunderstorm– the crashing and banging, the relentless burst of energy, thrashing winds and then a deluge.

As people we all show symptoms or signs of all sorts of conditions that may or may not be part of a label, that may or may not be something we “have.” And one of the nuances of who I am is that numbers make me happy.

I think the phenomenon has become more noticeable since I starting spending more time with my traveling partner, M., because as someone with Asperger’s, numbers play a huge role in organizing his life. And we talk about numbers when we notice them, because it’s nice to have someone who also likes the comfort of numbers.

I was relieved when I got my current car, because the license plate featured a number I could live with. Speaking of cars, I have been in a special kind of mourning every since that car, my Jetta, turned over to 70,000. (Since I lost my job at Stitch Fix, my daughter has been driving it. She’s put about 12,000 miles on it in eight months.) But The Teenager also sent me a photo when her father’s car turned over to 11,111 miles.

I will transfer money between savings and checking to create more favorable bank balances, ones that are pleasing to see.

And I dread the day I need to close my primary bank account, because the account number features a sequence I particularly like.

I’m old enough to remember when telephone numbers were seven digits, not ten. And the strange sensation of having to add the area code for local numbers and not just long distance. The generation before me can probably remember when phone numbers did not include the local exchange.

And if you are unfamiliar with some of these terms…

These terms and systems originated and grew with the “landline” telephone technology. The numbers directed users to specific systems of wires and before automatic switching, a telephone switchboard operator had to direct callers to specific wires by unplugging them and plugging them back in.

An American phone number is customarily organized like this:

1-XXX-YYY-ZZZZ

The “1” is the country code.

The XXX is the area code which refers to a larger geographic region, like a few counties in a state, depending on population.

The YYY is the local exchange, usually a town.

And then the ZZZZ were specific residents. Like your house number, but for your telephone.