I got congratulated a lot Wednesday on my 65th birthday-when it's really my mom who deserves all the credit. I was, literally, along for the ride. As I always do, I called her to say thank you and she responded by asking "Bill Who?" and it was a wonderful forty-seven seconds or so on the phone. I'm kidding (of course); it was closer to a minute.
I spend part of at least one day in every month, as befits a man who pretends his best is yet to come, in the office of one of the half dozen physicians I see on a regular basis. I even had a robocall from one of them on my birthday reminding me to schedule my "medicare physical." Hi.lar.i.ous.
I fear I've stayed too long at the fair when I am happy my A1C is close to 6.0 and I have a feeling sort of like how I felt when I scored 3rd row tickets for Springsteen on his first German tour. (We're talking grin across my entire face.)
How pathetic is that actually? It's right up there with taking a nap on the couch in the afternoon/early evening if I want to stay up past eight o'clock (on a school night), because that has become my bedtime. All that's missing are the pajamas with feet.
I'm overdue for a prostate exam my primary care physician will want to talk about when next we meet which could be one of the reasons I avoid scheduling an appointment (I love when people say prostrate exam; I find that funny at so many levels it's scary). I know why and how important and all the rest of it; I'm just not a big fan of being reminded of my own mortality.
I have slowed down in recent years and have become the old guy I spent such a large part of my life trying to avoid. Who says God has no sense of humor? As much as my heart will always beat a little faster for My Generation, until it stops beating entirely, I share another Bill's belief. I too, have passed the age of consciousness and righteous rage, I've found that just surviving is a noble fight. I once believed in causes, too, I had my pointless point of view, but life goes on no matter who was wrong or right.
After six and half decades trying to outrun the sound of my own steps in flight and fright, I've learned the irony of not having to worry about a legacy when so little was accomplished.