My birthday is coming up Sunday. My 60th… Holy shit.
I’ve got mixed feelings about it.
While I’m glad I made it 60 which is about twice what I figured I’d live given my lifestyle when I was younger, I’m little dismayed that I’m going to be 60. That’s fucking old, bro – real old.
Let me tell you how old 60 is. You know how when you filling shit out on the internet and it asks for your age, you’ve got to type in mm/dd and then there’s a scale for the year? I gotta scroll waaay down to get to 1959.
I was standing in line at the store a couple weeks ago and I felt a tug on my shirt tail. When I turned and looked, there was a little girl, cute little kid, and she announced to me that it was her birthday. Mama was trying to shush her but I just smiled and asked how old was she on her special day? She gave me a smile back and said “I’m four” then she held up four fingers. Then she asked how old I was and Mama was really trying to get her to shut up at the point. “I’m almost 60” and I flashed her my 10 fingers 6 times, and I swear you could see the wheels in her little head turning with “Holy shit, do trees live that fucking long?”
I’m so damned old I can ask for a Senior Citizen’s discount and get it, no questions asked – or so Lisa says. I refuse to do it.
I’m so damned old that when I get pulled over, the cops don’t even ask if I have any drugs in the truck.
I’m so damned old 40 year old men hold the door open for me and call me sir. Shit, I’ve had hottie women hold the door for me while calling me sir, dashing any momentary fantasies I might have against the rocks.
I am thankful for the fact that I’m reasonably healthy for my age. I haven’t been to a doctor in over 3 years and I’ll be perfectly happy if I can go another 3 years without seeing one. I mean, I’m healthy and strong enough that I went out and cleared, cut up and stacked that pecan tree that got split in that storm a couple weeks ago and I did that in the heat of the day. 90 degrees, bro. Fuck that tree.
Oh sure, I’ve got more aches and pains than I used to. I creak and groan when I get up out of my chair to go do something, to the point that now I wait until I’ve got several things to do before getting up. I tend to lay in bed for a few minutes first thing in the morning instead of hitting the floor as soon as my eyes open.
I have noticed that my eyes are getting worse to the point that if I have to read fine print, I don’t even try to read it before hauling out my bifocals.
Oh well. If these few things are all that I have to bitch about, I’m a lucky man.
Getting older does have its good points, I suppose.
I’m on my last dog. I’ll never have to raise another pup.
I can get the aforementioned Senior Citizen’s discount if I could bring myself to ask for it.
If I could afford to buy a new truck tomorrow, it would last me the rest of my life.
If I murder somebody tomorrow and get sentenced to life, the most I’ll have to do is 15-20 years before I die. Watch out, motherfuckers – prison is no longer a deterrent.
One thing that I’ve noticed though – my attitude hasn’t gotten any mellower since I’ve aged. I still won’t take being abused or fucked with, and I’ve gotten less tolerant of assholes in general.
What really puzzles me though, is why did God let me live so long when better people than me have died much younger? I mean, I’ve done some seriously rotten shit in my life and it’s not like I went out of my way to take care of myself with all the drugs, drinking, fighting and other off the wall shit that I’ve done. Yet I’m still standing when people that led clean and moral lives are cold in their graves. Maybe it’s true, only the Good die young.
I used to think that maybe God spared me because He had something special in store for me, that He was going to use me to make a difference in somebody’s life. Maybe that’s still in the cards but all I have to say is God might want to get a move on because statistically speaking, I’m going to be a goner in just a few years.
I used to say that I had no regrets with the life that I lived, but I’ve found as I’ve gotten older that’s no longer true. I’ve got more than a few but I’ve learned that you can regret all you want but it’s not going to change shit. What’s done is done and it’s best just to learn from it, deal with it, and move the fuck on.
My death – when I was a youngster I used to wonder how I was going to die – was it going to be a gunfight, a car accident, an overdose, or what? Now what I wonder about is if the coroner’s going to find my body in the back yard before that asshole dog Jack eats my face off.
Is there anything that I would do different if I could go back and do it again?
Man, that’s a tough one. The easy answers would be I wouldn’t have ever gotten into drugs, I’d have gone to college, I’d have made the army a career, I’d have never gone back to California, I’d have worked with my mind instead of my back….. I could go on and on but the simple fact is, everything that I did in my life shaped me and made me what I am today and I’m pretty happy with me and my life right now.