When I Was 72, It Was A Very Good Year
As the race for the White House rounds the bend into the final 3 weeks, I had a pretty lucid realization. My dad and John McCain are the exact same physical age but could not be any more different in terms of mental age. When I look at and listen to McCain wax about the good old days of Truman, create jokes based upon Beach Boys lyrics, refer to his supporters as prisoners, launch attacks based upon ancient irrelevant associations, announce he is a complete Luddite, ignore the racial hatred during stump speeches, and extol the virtues of Celeb-lican demi-god Reagan, it’s apparent that in his own mind, his best days are behind him. His ideas, rhetoric, and cultural sensitivity seem more 1968 than 2008. As a ghost of his former maverick self, geriatric inertia has set in, whereby his memories take up more mental space than his dreams.
In contrast, my dad, a recent retiree after 40 years in the defense industry, works out 4X a week, audits college classes for fun, tears through an enviable amount of books, appreciates pop culture, dances to hip-hop badly, enjoys cooking every meal now after 65 years of being served, loves YouTube and free internet porn, jokes about still having “lead in the pencil” sexually, breaks every PDA law with my mother, and, most importantly, still sees possibility in his own future growth. His life experiences and wisdom haven’t closed off his curiosity. He’s not old man stubborn. On the contrary, he still believes he can do anything he wants to in life. Whenever I joke about his age, without fail, he’ll immediately say “Shut up!”, as if I’ve said something offensive. “I am growing older son, but I am not old.” If I have one half of his spirit and vitality at age 72, I’ll be doing well.
