Older and (allegedly) wiser, he travels on through life

When I was about to turn 30 years old, I remember being a bit anxious about the whole thing. It wasn’t the fact that I was about to leave behind my go everywhere, do anything, “I can sleep when I’m dead” 20s.

Nor was it the idea I was somehow suddenly leaving my youth behind to leap headlong into adulthood. Heck, by the time I clicked the Big 3-0, I had a wife, a mortgage and a couple of kids. If that wasn’t officially “adulting,” I don’t know what could have qualified me otherwise. No, the thing that terrified me about turning 30 was actually its proximity to 40. Now that was truly old, and I was already three quarters of the way there. Where had my life gone?

Now, three decades beyond that momentous occasion, I stand just a few days ahead of my 60th birthday, still asking myself how this all could have happened so quickly.

My wife and kids would likely testify my ascent into old age didn’t actually happen all that rapidly. They watched my once-ample golden mane slowly turn gray and then evaporate to leave twin patches of naked scalp framing a row of wiry gray hair that lies on top of my head like a baby opossum stretched across a cantaloupe.

And they’ve seen me fall asleep in my recliner after dinner with such regularity they now simply bid me “goodnight” the moment they see me headed in the general direction of the chair. I’ve become the guy who mistakenly puts the peanut butter away in the fridge and the jelly in the cupboard. I wear socks in my slippers. I chew only half a piece of gum at a time because it’s enough to do the job, and frankly, it’s more economical. (I mean come on, it’s like getting twice the pleasure for your money.)

And if I catch you throwing a banana peel or apple core in the trash rather than the compost can, you’re in for a lengthy lecture on soil health and nutrient cycling.

From my earliest days as a wannabe comic back in elementary school, I’ve honed a wonderful imitation of an old man. Dramatically bent over, raspy-voiced and pointing a shaky, crooked finger, I’d offer my observations on the dreadful naiveté of the youth of the day: “Just wait until you’ve got hair growing out of your ear holes and then you might know a little something about life.”

According to my own admonitions, I should now officially know “a little something about life” as my ear hair, in the absence of a good trim, might find me mistaken for a balding Koala.

One thing I now know for sure is 60 doesn’t feel nearly as old as I’d imagined it would. I’m still able to do all of the things I love to do, and I’m infinitely grateful to have a companion who is willing and able to do those things right alongside me. Furthermore, not only do I have a wonderful dog, but also my wife is pretty swell too (gotcha, Kristin). My kids have mostly inadvertently worked hard at making me a more patient, tolerant and empathetic individual, and my grandsons remind me daily that life isn’t about age — it’s about attitude. I’m proud of them all.

On that same theme, I am thankful as well for the thriving assembly of family and friends who have crossed this threshold before me — some of them long before me — to prove getting older, much the opposite of being a curse, is an opportunity to continue each day to learn a little something more about life. I love every doggone one of you. Happy birthday to me.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John atjlorson@alonovus.com.