A new year means new dates. How to keep it all straight

With every New Year comes …

Guess! Go ahead.

Guess! Guess!

OK, you weaseled it out of me: With every New Year comes a new year, different from the old year, that has to be remembered and written down, over and over again, on checks, invoices, computer files and so on.

And, yes, the newest one is 2024.

I think that’s why the new number lights up so dramatically every year in Times Square — to make it easier to keep in our heads.

2024!

Folks even put it on hats and those eyeglasses made from the numbers.

Most of those glasses are pretty ugly, although I did like the ones that were made in the 2000s, because they had the two zeroes in the middle, which made them look like real glasses.

The 2002 ones were my favorite because they featured those big 2’s on either side and your two eyes strategically placed in the middle.

So symmetrical!

All of these lights, glasses and other souvenirs don’t help everyone, though. In the next few weeks, a few of you will accidentally write 2023. Or 2022. Or … whatever.

Last year, when I was writing out a check, I accidentally dated it March 13, 1998.

I have no idea where “1998” came from. I guess it was just stuck in my head for some reason.

And I got no sympathy from friends who do all of their banking online — and haven’t written a paper check since 1998.

When I put dates on my computer files, I only use numbers, like 1-7-24.

Or, like my birthday, 7-22-55.

Back in August, the receptionist at a doctor’s office asked for my date of birth and then, after I said “7-22-55” actually asked, “Do you mean 1955?”

I was tempted to say that I was born in 1755, but I knew that would have caused some animosity and led to annoying questions about life in the Thirteen Colonies and how we all got along without cellphones.

My Dutch friend Rolf is also a July baby, but he writes his birthday as 25-7-1959.

And, no, there is no 25th month of the year. (Trust me, I checked.) They just do things differently in Holland. And France. And all those other European countries.

Have you ever wondered about these differing date formats and why we put our months (MM), days (DD) and years (YYYY) where we do?

As you probably already know, most of Europe, Australia and South America goes with the DD-MM-YYYY format. So do Russia and the northernmost countries in Africa.

Countries in East Asia prefer YYYY-MM-DD.

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But Canadians are so cool, they do everything. MM-DD-YYYY. And YYYY-MM-DD. And DD-MM-YYYY.

But, why, why, why, why do we — the good people of the USA — march to the beat of our own drummer when it comes to writing dates?

(Not only is Europe’s DD-MM-YYYY more common throughout the world, it also features something Americans usually love: alphabetical order.)

The most common theory for all of this is that back in the 1800s, we borrowed the format England was using. In the beginning of the 1900s, however, England decided to switch to match the rest of Europe.

I find this ironic, since Brits decided in 2002 to reject the euro and stick with their pound sterling. They’ve also persisted in driving on the wrong side of the road, even though I’ve told them a hundred times to stop it.

Incidentally, have you noticed that there are hardly any drive-thru restaurants in England?

Is that because Brits don’t like to eat in their cars, or because they don’t want their cashiers flinging fries to drivers who are 7 feet from the drive-thru windows?

(Sure, they could allow cars to access those windows from the other direction, but why encourage all of this? Every time I watch some English TV show and see a driver turn onto a busy two-way street, I’m a nervous wreck.)

As you might imagine, we all think that whichever way WE drive, or write down the date, is the only way that makes sense.

And that is our right, I suppose. I do feel just as comfortable saying “The Fourth of July” as I do saying “July 4th.” But I don’t imagine “The 11th of September” is ever going to catch on.

I do like the sound of “2024,” though, and have it written down on a piece of paper, taped onto my computer, just to remind me.

At my age, though, remembering the year is the least of my problems — and I suspect other retirees will tell you the same thing.

Since retiring, I can never remember what day of the week it is, because every day feels like Saturday or Tuesday, except for Thursday, which feels like Sunday.

Of course, if there were a ball next to my bed that lit up and said “IT’S MONDAY …”

Well, it would help.

This article originally appeared on NorthJersey.com: The new year brings a new change to the calendar. How to adapt