My Dad is Getting Old
My Dad turned 68 yesterday, which means he's officially getting old, which also means I'm officially getting old.
As inevitable as the aging process is, I've never really thought about my parents' aging. Deep down, I knew it would happen, but I never took the time to let the thought tumble around in my brain.
My Dad is very much a man of routine. He hasn't changed much in the past 40 years. His appearance has changed a bit, but his overall behavior and habits are practically the same as they were when I first became conscious of them.
I can't remember a time when he was particularly spry or youthful, since his desk chair and computer were always his home base. For about a year or so, he got into running, but severe back issues soon got the best of him, and the running routine ended.
Since he never had that youthful spark of life, he's always sort of been "old," which is why it's so disorienting that, finally, he's actually acting his age and statistically much closer to death than middle age.
Acknowledging my father will soon be 70 is enough to make me realize that time is truly short, and now is the time to celebrate life, while we're all here to live it.