It’s a Numbers Game

My daughter, Elizabeth, turned forty-eight on Monday.  When we spoke on the phone, she told me that she was going to start telling people that she’s fifty. She told people she was forty-seven when she turned forty-six.  She was publicly forty-seven for two years, so it seemed liked she gained a year when she actually turned forty-seven.

I did the same thing when I turned forty-six.  I think my son, David, did too.

I made up the story because turning thirty-six was a difficult time for me. Very tough. I was closer to forty than thirty and that bothered me.  I tried to avoid the forty vs fifty dilemma by declaring I was forty-seven.  It worked.

David turns fifty at the end of the month. Fifty!  Let that sink in.  I have a kid who’s turning fifty.  Holy Batman!

I remember the births of both David and Elizabeth as if they were yesterday.  David was born on Easter Sunday.  It was the highest of highs for me.  Ruth was happy for her dad because he finally had a boy in his life.  We knew everything about birthing babies until the time came.  All our studying headed out the door when the real work began.  We just hung on and celebrated when he appeared.

Elizabeth took all night to be born.  She kept crawling back up the birth canal.  She was in no hurry to face the world.  When she finally emerged it was Ruth, the doctor, and me.  The attending nurse had stepped outside.  The doctor handed her naked little body to me for safe keeping.  She was the slickest thing I ever felt.  I thought if I held her too tight, she’d squirt away.

I have a birthday in a couple months.  I’ll be seventy-eight knocking on eighty’s door.  Somehow the past few decades haven’t had as great an impact on my psyche as those through my forties.  I’ve just been happy to have more time.

I received a notice a couple of days ago of my sixtieth high school class reunion. Sixty!  It’s going to be held in October.  I need to decide if I’m going to stay in Michigan long enough to attend.  Right now, I’m leaning that way.  I noted on the electronic mailing that there were fewer than three hundred names included.  We had about six hundred and fifty in our class, so either the organizers don’t have everyone’s addresses, or our numbers have slipped that low.  I hope it’s the former.

Not long ago I wrote about Holly kissing Rick, Mitch and me at our twentieth high school reunion almost forty years ago.  We lost both Rick and Mitch this year.  If Holly’s going to be there, I think I should go to collect a kiss for each of us.  I haven’t puckered in a long time, but things like that seem to resurrect when the time comes. That in itself would be worth the trip.