Happy Birthday to me and other depressing musings…

It’s June 29 in Beijing and therefore, it’s my birthday. Usually, I don’t make a big deal of it. Who cares, at this point, in one’s life about yet another birthday?  The only noteworthy aspect of turning 59 is the obvious one. Next year! (and I don’t mean “Jerusalem”!)

I’ve been able to successfully fool myself for the last ten years that I was, if nothing else, on the “down slope” of middle age. Unless I want to subscribe to the phony baloney notion that the “60’s are the new 50’s,” than I must acknowledge, at long last, I’m an old dude. Yuck!

I suppose I will soon be joining those who, when they say, “getting old isn’t for the faint of heart” will truly understand it from the inside out. At least I don’t have any ailments. I don’t take any prescription drugs, I don’t have to abstain from any activity and I consider myself to be, generally speaking, in good health. “Fit as a fiddle” to use an old (see what I mean?) saying.

I can only implore my daughter, who is the light of my life, to not have any children. Anyone who knows me knows that I never really pictured myself as a “dad.” OK, it WAS the best thing I ever embarked upon but only because serendipity blessed me with the perfect child. Having said that, I absolutely have zero interest in “wearing” the moniker, “pop-pop” (egads!) or some other undignified title. Being a “grandfather” would truly be the nail in the coffin, so to speak. Sophie, (cue the guilt), please don’t it, for your “old man.” (Cue the sad violin music) If you don’t, maybe, just maybe, I can convince myself that “the 60’s are the new 50’s.”