Tomorrow, God willing, I will have completed 65 years on this planet and will become an official and bona fide Senior Citizen. To avoid hurting my feelings, some people will call me “older” instead of “old.” Somehow, in defiance of the rules of English, “older” has become not so old as “old.”
Who ever thinks he’s going to wind up 65 years old?
I take comfort in the words of Casey Stengel, who said, “A lot of people my age are dead. You could look it up.” And in the words of Solon, who, when asked what made him so brave against the tyranny in Athens, said, “Old age.”
I have already been accused of being just too damn old to understand and appreciate the wonderfulness of the libs’ ‘n’ progs’ program for America. If only I were younger, I would celebrate sodomite pseudomarriage and easily see the need to give the government vast new powers to deal with threats like Global Warming and racism.
I don’t feel like an old man. I can still play basketball as poorly as I ever played it. Freddy the Pig and Rick Brant still delight me. My wife and i can still amuse ourselves by making rude noises, especially when a certain politician’s face appears on our computer screen. And Last of the Summer Wine has taught me that you’re never too old for fun and mischief.
Still, it’s a major milestone, and I thought I ought to say something.
I would very much like to be still here to see secular liberalism crash and burn, discredited forever, its proponents heaped with shame and chased out of office forever.
This afternoon would be a good time for that.