55 GOING ON 110
by Wendel James Potter
A Truly Modern Marvel
September 8, 2007
Another birthday is rearing its ugly head.
I’ve been told that on the day I was born, somewhere in the final stages of delivery, the doctor said to my mother, “Mrs. Potter, you are rearing an ugly head.”
That was in 1952. 54 birthdays have come and gone. That’s a lot of cake and ice cream.
And as I turn 55, my head ain’t getting any prettier. Neither is my rear. As a matter of fact, most folks don’t know whether I’m backing up or going forward.
So on September 10th, at my house, there will be cake. It will be Black Forest Cake, my all time favorite, followed by 2 - count ’em- 2 Monday Night Football games.
I can only assume that a televised NFL double-header is meant to be a birthday gift from ESPN. How did they know? It must have been the ESP part.
But aside from cake and football on my 55th, what is there left that I can look forward to? Well...56, I hope.
I never used to dwell on the mortality of man. Not until recently, when I started doing the math.
According to most statistics that I’ve read (after I put on my glasses), the average American male is expected to reach the age of 75. This, of course, does not factor in the possibility of getting hit by a bus.
If every American male got hit by a bus on his 75th birthday, I would be a firm believer in these statistical reports.
Fact is, even though I like cake and football, I’ve been approaching this birthday with a less than gleeful attitude. I think I'm suffering through what’s commonly known as a Mid-Life Crisis.
And we all know what a Mid-Life Crisis is. It’s a reason to bitch and moan about every aspect of your existence-past and present, to get people to feel sorry for you, and to blame everything on God.
Hey, why not blame everything on God? He's lived forever, for crying out loud! What’s He know about getting up to pee 5 or 6 times in the middle of the night? He still has a full head of hair! And He probably doesn’t even like cake and football!
Now for some men, the Mid-Life Crisis is also an excuse to hit on younger women and then tell the wife, “Sorry, but cut me some slack. I'm having a Mid-Life Crisis here. Nobody understands me. Besides, it‘s all God's fault.”
That's when a wife shows how understanding she can really be. She cuts her husband’s slacks - and with him still in them.
So in experiencing my Mid-Life Crisis, I’ve chosen to find at least one glimmer of hope. I figure: Hey! This is mid-life? Well, I’m 55. That means I’m going to live until I’m 110!
See, if I was only going to live to be 75, that means my Mid-Life Crisis should have taken place on March 10, 1990. When I was 37-½ years old.
Well, it didn’t. When I was 37-½, I had a full head of thick, dark hair, was able to corral two small children, go to bed at midnight and get up at 5 am feeling rested, and drink a six-pack of beer and never have to pee!
So here I am at 55. My grayish hair is thinning, I wear bifocals, I can’t even drink a six-pack of beer, I have flab in all the wrong places, young women would just laugh at me, and I blame everything on God.
So Happy Birthday to me! I guess this is mid-life.
Just remind me 20 years from now, when I'm 75, to look both ways before crossing.
Copyright 2007 Wendel James Potter
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