Double Nickels

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I can't believe that I'm fifty-f***ing five years old!

One of the curses of having a great memory is that I can recall things that happened fifty years ago.

55?

Seriously.

I'm pretty sure that I can get the discount on breakfast at Denny's now and while that feels embarrassing, it's the goal, right?

"You're getting old!" People will say all day.

And I think:

"Yeah, I want to get older too."

What is disconcerting about another trip around the sun is that now I catch a glimpse at the obits...

...and I am prone to do that for a long moment every few days or so...

...and I think:

"That guy is younger than me."

And sooner or later I will reach an age where people will think:

"He had a good run."

Hope to, anyway.

I don't recall too many specifics of too many birthdays...they've all sort of run together.

At ten years old I was on a bus to an away football game where I sat on a bench in the cold and the highlight of the trip was the oranges I ate at halftime.

One of the team 'stars' said:

"Those are for the guys that play."

I secretly hoped he'd choke on his.

On my 13th birthday, Reginald Martinez Jackson hit three homers in Game 6 as the Yankees won the World Series over the Dodgers. I swore he did it for me.

On my 40th birthday the Yankees pounded the Red Sux as we all drank beer. The win that day gave the Yankees a 3-0 series lead.

They didn't win a 4th game in that series.

On my 50th birthday we went away for a couple of days and I sat in a hot tub.

55?

Who knows?

Kathy says that I can cook whatever I want for dinner.

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