45 Freaking Years Old! Really?

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I was watching the start of the Red Sux game the other night when the announcer stated that Jon Lester was born in 1985.

By 1985 I couldn't drink like I used to. I was preparing to enter my senior year in college, Born in the USA was still on the charts, and Mattingly was still playing.

All of this comes to light because next Sunday I'll be sort of celebrating the fact that I'm turning 45-freaking-years old. Me? 45? Skidding towards 50? And Jon Lester still ain't 25?

The reality of it all came crashing down the other night as I had a few beers with friends and family members.

"Look around," Chucky said. "We're the oldest people in here."

And it was true. The youngsters were looking at us with disdain, and wondering why the hell someone played The Allman Brothers, and the Rolling Stones off of Some Girls.

"Do you realize this album came out in '75?" I said as Shattered obliterated the quiet. Our table was the only group singing along.

Shattered, shattered. My brain's been battered. Scattered all over Manhattan.

"35 didn't bother me. 40 didn't seem like such a big deal, but 45 was another story," said a woman in the group. "At 45 it occurred to me that I wasn't even middle-aged anymore."

And I suppose she's right. Unless I go to 90, I'm well past the halfway point. As taught this year, anything might happen.

Yet 45? Seems real old to me today. Feeling burned by the angels, and sold wings of lead, I wonder why Lester gets to be 24 when I'm this old already.

Calls to mind something one of my old college buddies told me once - "It took me so long to grow up and such a short time to grow old."

Nothing to do now but sit back and welcome the party.

And pray that Lester has already pitched his last game of '09.

Comments

Gag said…
Welcome to the club.
12 October, 2009
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