Reflections on Growing Older

I must admit, the picture of me on this blog is a few years old. A hair cut today reminded me of that. I was more eager to have my good-looking hair stylist (my foxy, very pregnant wife) put more hair on than take off.

After speaking with a new lieutenant last weekend at military drill, I turned to a colleague and said, “That [conversation] made me feel old.”

“You are old,” he quipped.

“I think I’m just getting more mature,” I told my wife after she observed my hair (or the loss thereof).

“No, you’d have to act more mature for that to happen.” She smiled. I guess I’m not growing up, then. To be more precise, I’m simply growing old.

Earlier this week I heard the song, the good ship lollipop, or something like that. I can sing it. I can hear the song in my mind and envision a young, curly-haired, effervescent Shirley Temple dancing and singing on our old black and white television. Those were the days when we used knobs, not remotes.

Yesterday we bought a new vehicle. It talks to us; we can respond to her and she obeys. That’s quite amazing. There’s a DVD player for the kids, complete with remote, cordless headphones. Of course, the TV is all in color and has a surround sound Bose system. The rear view mirrors even readjust themselves when you back up. My wife is ultra happy. I told her it was her gift for cutting my hair all these years for free and giving me a whole quiver full of cute kids.