The Big Five-O

Forty was just a number.  For some reason fifty seems more serious.  A half-century.  Maybe it's partly because I can still remember when my grandparents were at the age I am now.  It is a cliche to say I don't feel fifty, but it doesn't make it any less true.  I definitely thought I would be more mature at this age.  Fart sounds and well-timed "That's-what-she-said!" jokes still crack me up.  I can still happily watch South Park or Beevis and Butthead when I'm in the right mood for it.  I still have problems with authority or perceived authority. 

I was lucky enough to spend yesterday with my best friend, Mick and his family.  I spent the better part of today with part of my family.  It's nice to be around people I've known for over thirty years.  It's relaxing to be with folks who have seen me at my best and worst and still put up with it all.

When I was younger, I didn't think I would make it to thirty.  Now it's twenty years past that point, knowing I should be getting reading glasses, receiving mail from AARP, and talking about surgeries and aching body parts.  Being single at fifty just plain isn't much fun.  The idea of being with someone else who would be trying to tell me what's wrong with me while trying to change me into who they think they want has no appeal, either.

The best I can come up with right now is that turning fifty is still more appealing than not turning fifty.  It sort of feels like being in a car or on a train and realizing the brakes don't work.