Wasn’t it only last month we were on the seesaw trying to jump off and give our partner a jolt?
Wasn’t it only last week we were playing “spin the bottle” and packing 10 people into our father’s big ole Buick to go to the drive-in movie?
Wasn’t it only yesterday we were marching down the aisle to the tune of “Dear ole West Point High School” to receive our diplomas?
It has been brought to my attention that the kids of ’47 will be turning 65 this year. Oh my, I guess I forgot or at least blocked it out. Is this some kind of cosmic trick played prematurely on Baby Boomers?
At least two of my classmates have already celebrated their 65 years on the planet and two more will follow in the next three weeks. We’ll get together and do a lot of screaming, I suspect.
Turning 65 is one of life’s most significant passages. On one hand we relish reaching retirement age and the freedom from 9-5 existence. On the other we feel a bit of panic, suddenly realizing the clock is ticking and we only have so many years left to reach our dreams.
Speaking for myself I feel fortunate to have made it this far. Some of us didn’t. But what I see when I look in the mirror is nothing like the vision I have in my head of the 16-year old I used to be. Where did she go and why did she leave me here with this body?
Today I’ll see a lot of my old classmates as we attend the funeral of one of our mothers (Mrs. Mary Caruthers, Eugene’s mother). There are so few of us who still have parents living. Life marches on and we’d better hold on for a wild ride during this next phase of our lives.