Wednesday, March 25, 2015

On Being 70

If my fuzzy memory serves me correctly my first birthday of significance was turning 13. I was now a teenager, well on my way to adulthood. Next up was 16, when I could drive a car. 18 when I could legally drink. 21 when I could vote. Then things slowed down. Turning 30 was a sign that I was no longer a young man. 40 was so bad that at midnight I went out on my front porch in Syracuse, dropped my pants and mooned the city. 50 was marked with an invite from the AARP! That really makes you feel old. 60 was taken with a mild ho hum. But 70, now we're talking about turning into an old man. Yesterday, when I was 69 if I died people would read my obituary and think I died too young. Today at 70 if I died people reading my obituary would say, "Well, he had a good run!" What a difference a day makes. For the last month or so I have been telling people I was 70 just so I could get used to the fact of it. The last few years has seen an increasing number of public people I grew up with dying off. And even if they are still alive they look so old as my memory of them is when they were young. I hate watching those oldies videos of pop groups from my youth, now old, fat and feeble, pretending to sing love songs. But as has often been said, old is how you feel, not how old you are. In my case I think I stopped maturing at about 14 or so and I go through my day feeling that way only to be brought back to reality by the odd mirror here and there. So, now I'm 70 and a happy birthday to me. I'll still think the pretty girl holding the door for me and smiling is because she wants me even though in reality I probably remind her of her grandfather. So now I'm 70, fuck em if they can't take a joke!

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