Whothehellarethoseguys?

Onea my alltime favorite movie lines... Butch Cassidy... Whothehellareyou? WhothehellamI?

How can we be the same person at age 9, as we are at 19, 29, 39, 49, 59, etc...?

9. I had no clue to the world and it's woes.. All was good.. Gimme an all day whiffle ball game... Kick the can at night... get up and do it allover again the next day. (With an occasional "oh, it's back to school-time" tummy ache.

19. Again, no worldly clue. Out and about. Period. An activity damn near every night of the week. "Tomorrow" was not the future, rather it was tomorrow.

29. The "shit there's gotta be a better way" stage. Reality has set in.. For the light switch to come on, one must get butt out door and do something to raise funds to pay light bill. If one goes about this half-hazzard, there's rarely anything left over and above paying the light bill.. .thus "shit, there's gotta be a better way."

39. Second place. This is the dawn of the era where kids rule the roost, and thoughts of "me/tomorrow" are put on indefinite hold. Bending over backwards to ensure their life is great.. we oft forget about our own. Funny how many marriages go kapooey during this stage. Well, not funny, but sadly true. The focus is taken off 'us' and placed on 'them'.

49. Shit. I guess I better getta 401K or sumpin.

50. Screw you! I AM NOT supposed to be getting this AARP literature.

51. Geez, I wonder if I sign up for AARP, what kinda discounts I can get. They now have a professional tour for golfers that turn 50, maybe 50 ain't so bad after all.

52. The early years were spent as virtually all kids spend them, very damn selfishly. Propelled and encouraged by ma and pa. The family raising years lay ground to the crevices that run along side our noses... The 40's are all about holding on to "I can still do that dammit, I know I can."

I am not who I was when I was 9. Or 19. Or 29. Or 39.

The damn kids are about raised. I've done some selfish crap. I've tried my best to climb the ladder. I've hurried, I've hustled, I've driven thru the drive thru so we could have time to do every damn thing else there was on our list to do.

I like being 50-something. Drinking wine is not about getting a buzz... it's about the taste. Sunsets aren't all about "whatthehell do I have to do tomorrow.. what will I wear.. who has to be where/when." The slower pace fits. In fact, it's kinda welcomed. Phrases like "bent outta shape" and "all up in arms" no longer fit. To see a familiar face isn't taken for granted. We've seen our parents struggle. We know that's coming. We are thankful for the ability to simply move and think - and it doesn't go unappreciated. We wish we had a chance - not to do life over again - but to maybe have played it "33 speed" versus the "45" (or 78) we lived it. The eyeballs, whilst sucking at reading the newspaper - keep their lenses open a helluva lot longer to grasp and appreciate little things.

I broke my toe doing a cartwheel. I frankly don't give a shit. I once high jumped my height. I know I can't do that now, and it bothers me zilcho. Walking has usurped running. Tis Ok. Whothehell can see everything whilst running? I'd much rather walk and take it all in.

These are the years. Yes, those earlier years were the years too. But it's kinda like we've trained our own selves to appreciate things just a shade more at this age.

In spite of the reflection in the mirror... The minimum-ness of the 401K... The friggin' 36" belt notch that gets harder and harder every friggin' day to latch. I like my age. I appreciate my age.

I know the day is coming where I will pee my pants uncontrollably and forget my name. Fifty-something ain't so bad. In fact, it may be the best age yet.

Toodles