Well, I sure hope so, because I’m turning 77 today. Holy crap, how in the name of Zeus’s butthole did that happen! Wasn’t I just roller-skating along the mean streets and back alleys of the Bronx neighborhood where I grew up? Didn’t I just graduate from college and move to the Midwest? Didn’t I just load up a trailer and tow it to California, my forever home? Wasn’t I just hanging out with my three amazing daughters when they were tykes? Didn’t I just see my first novel published?
And didn’t I just meet Jacqueline, the woman of my dreams, my best friend and life partner? Where in Hades did the time go?!?
Some might say that 77 is the new 57. Okay, I might buy that. Tell the truth, in my head I sometimes feel (or act) like I’m 27. Then again, with all of the aches and pains associated with aging, there are times when the body feels like 117.
Still, I’m planning on sticking around for a while. If nothing else, there’s this. Jack Miller, the main character in my comedy/sci-fi series, said it best in Back on the Bike Path: “I am resolved to live till the day that the San Diego Padres win the World Series. That might make me the oldest man on Earth, but by the magic shillelagh of Tony Gwynn, I will be here!”
Given that the Padres are now loaded with some very expensive superstars, that goal might be reached sooner than later. But I can live with it. I’ll set a new goal after it happens. Like when the next UFO actually lands and its occupants make contact with us. As long as it’s not the Mother Ship coming to take me home…