What Did You Do This Weekend, John? I Turned Sixty-five!

This past weekend I turned sixty-five (65).  That didn't make me a senior citizen.  AARP sent me a membership card and declared me a senior when I turned fifty (50).  The federal
government said I could start withdrawing money from my IRAs when I turned fifty-nine and one-half (591/2)--leave it to the government to complicate things with a fraction!  The local movie theater declared me to be a senior when I turned sixty (60).  There were benefits that could have accrued to me as a senior citizen at sixty-two (62).  The Beatles crooned about the elder years when I turned sixty-four (64).  But still, none of them felt quite as official as sixty-five.  I am now unquestionably a senior citizen.

I still work outside the home--full-time.  And plan on doing so for a while yet.  So even though I am a card-carrying member of AARP, I am not a retired person.  I've been bald since I was about forty-five, and a greybeard from my early fifties.  I've been a grandfather for almost eighteen years, and love the role.  But none of those things made be feel I was a senior citizen.  But somehow turning sixty-five does.

So what does it mean?  In many ways I am still a boy on the inside, and even though I am helping take care of my elderly mother, she can still put me in my place with just a glance or a well-chosen word.  I still like to do many of the things I've done all my life--cycling, reading, going to the theater.  I still like good science fiction, and am early on line to see the latest Star Wars or Star Trek movie.

Do I feel any wiser now that I'm sixty-five?  Not particularly.  Although I am a bit wiser when it comes to eating really spicy foods for dinner!

Maybe what impacts me the most is the realization that this ride called life isn't going to last forever.  I'm not talking about life after death, or resurrection, or anything like that.  I'm talking about this life right here, right now.  Maybe the wisdom that comes with being a senior citizen is recognizing that you don't have all the time in the world.  You only have today.  That's true whether you're twelve or twenty or sixty-five, but somehow it seems a bit more real than it has in the past.


(Photo:  A family of origin shot--probably somewhere around 1969.  I am in the back row at the left.  I don't think the sixteen year old me ever dreamt about being sixty-five!)