CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter
Cole Porter may not agree that 2 out of 3 ain’t bad, but he ain’t necessarily right.  He got only the last two right for the title of my birthday song: I’m not bewitched, but I am bothered and, mostly, bewildered.
So many questions… How did this happen? Why was it so fast? Why do other people my age seem so old? Where are my glasses? What should I do when I grow up?
At last I’m in the top 2%. No, not the top 2% financially. I’m in the top 2% of the grim reaper’s list. Today I start my 9th decade.
I was hoping to let this pass by unnoticed, so I would not have to deal with it, but my wife secretly [until someone unintentionally blew her cover] conspired with several folks to make sure I received a whole bunch of really neat cards and letters, some from people I’ve never even met. It’s sort of nice to be noticed even when you don’t want to be.
I remember when we had class officer elections at the end of our junior year in high school. I had been class president for three years. I told my classmates as the election came near, “Please don’t elect me as class president again. I will be editor of the school newspaper next year, and since I want a career in journalism, it’s important I spend all my time on that.” They graciously accepted my demurrer and elected my good friend, Mike Dickey.
It was only then that I realized: I really wanted them to rise up and say, “Oh, no, you have been our president forever. You have done such a wonderful job. We can’t possibly get along without you as president.”
I learned two lessons: 1] It’s better to say what you mean, even if you don’t know what you mean.  You can be right even when you don’t mean to be, because Mike was an excellent president, and I dropped out of school in mid-year to work in a factory and could not have fulfilled class president duties, and I did not have a career in journalism.
So, yes, I’ll say what I mean: I’m old, and I’m proud. Thanks for noticing.
I tweet as yooper1721.
1] Yes, I know that’s the Gershwins; don’t get picky.