Bob the Artifact
To me, age has always been a number. People used to freak about turning 30 and to me the ones who bellyached about it usually had nothing show for that first decade of adulthood.
I said for years that the only number that might give me pause was 50 given its half-century significance. In the last few years I stopped saying that since I didn’t feel old. Being 50 wasn’t significant any more since it’s maybe the beginning of middle age or something like that. After all, I’m likely to be working another two decades before retiring and nearly that long to qualify for social security.
Robbie, though, has been looking forward to this milestone for quit e some time now since it would qualify both his parents to be artifacts.
Today, I am an artifact.
I don’t feel like one. In fact, I feel pretty good. My doctor is pleased with my general health and the stress from the last six months has made me tired but that’s about it. Of course, with Robbie’s condition, I haven’t given my birthday and its cultural significance a s lot of thought,
Others, though, have. Robbie’s plan all along had been to buy those 50 year old gag gifts and hide them in my luggage so I’d have a laugh while in San Diego. Instead, he was hospitalized and I never left the east coast. His gift is now letting us leave early tomorrow – together – for dinner and The Dark Knight..
He’s also been telling people at the hospital so various members of the staff have wished me well and given me some hugs since their schedules have them missing the actual day.
My old DC boss, Terri Cunningham, generously planned a surprise birthday breakfast for me at San Diego but those plans also had to be scuttled but the thought was certainly appreciated.
E-mails have been arriving for a few days once it cropped up on various social networking sites. A few cards have arrived from friends and family. All of this pleased me, but the celebration is a muted one given the gravity of the situation.
The cliché has it you’re as young as you feel. I certainly don’t feel like the stereotypical 50 year old. Can’t quite put an age to it, but I don’t feel old and barely think of myself as middle aged. (And yet, my brother, thinking it funny, sent me the application to the AARP.)
Thanks to all for the wishes, may there be fifty more opportunities.