It’s a time for celebration!
Tuesday was the 22nd anniversary of attaining my correct weight and Wednesday was the 62nd anniversary of attaining my first breath.
Now, I realize that – on the grand scale of things – 62 is not that old, and should you be in your seventies, eighties, or nineties (God bless your genetics) please forgive me, but as I’ve pointed out before, this is the oldest I’ve ever been, causing some introspection. Please indulge me.
Understanding that 62 is a milestone in the fact that — if I so choose — I can now legally, officially, get a monthly Social Security check gave me pause to consider other life markers yet to come — and those long gone.
When I turned ten, realizing I was now in double digits, I was convinced I was “mature.”
Thirteen was significant, as I became a man in the eyes of Judaism, having my Bar Mitzvah. I turned 18 the year that we were allowed to vote; 19 put me eligible for the draft; 21 let me drink (legally); at 25, I could rent a car; 30 brought with it a sense of adulthood and 40 locked it in. At 50, the right of passage was the AARP card showing up in the mail.
Growing up listening to the Beetles’ “When I’m 64” makes that year significant. At one point, it seemed worlds away; now it’s knocking on the door. At 65, I believe I get Medicare. Passing 70 and 74 will be significant as those were the ages that my parents passed. My grandfather made it to 86; I fully intend to see that in my rear view mirror also.
Don’t misunderstand; this is in no way a tirade of the woes of aging; I’m not looking at this process at all in a negative sense (okay, maybe a wee bit).
Guilty pleasure alert! My wife and I like watching America’s Got Talent.
(Deal with it.)
In the end, all that is left of any of us are the memories in those we touched.
As they say, no one will every say, ” I wish I worked more,” or “My only regret is that I didn’t have a better car.”
A few fun tips to enhance your relationships (of all kinds) that won’t cost you a dime:
Recently, I had a revelation: I am no longer in my twenties.
There were obvious signs prior to this new dawning.
For example, of late, in order to read small print, I must either remove my glasses or post the document across the room. Conversely, I must also use the “zoom” feature on my computer monitor to increase font size for virtually everything on screen.
I also must admit a tinge of guilt in continuing to list “brown” as my hair color on driver’s license applications. Rather, “gray with a small bit of brown remaining” is more appropriate. (Since there is not enough space to use this accurate description, I rationalize “brown” as being as honest as possible.)
Oh yes, one other indicator that I am no longer in my twenties is that I am the biological father of a 31-year-old. Even the most forward thinking and mature twenty-something would be hard pressed to have 31-year-old offspring.