The Day I Got Old

I like the number 13. I’ve never experienced any bad luck as a result of it. I’ve spent my life contemplating its maligned character and contriving ways to support it.

Why does the number 13 deserve my support and respect?

You see, way back in the year 1959, on a chilly January evening, my mother gave birth to me. On the 13th.

And of course members of my cohort began teasing me as soon as they were able to comprehend that I had been born on a day that was considered unlucky.

But was it?

I say no. I’ve had bad luck in my life, but never on the 13th. And though I was actively drinking too much when I was 13 years old, my addiction started when I was 12. My first taste of alcohol was when I was 10, a swig of rye snuck out of a bottle early on a Sunday morning when I was the first one up.

Subsequent thirteens in my life brought indifference at worst and good luck or better in the best cases. Birthdays were often good days or even great. Cold, but good, what do you want from January.

For those of you playing along at home …

If you’re following along, then yes, this is January and yes, my birthday did just occur a couple of days ago.

And for the more mathematically inclined … yes, you have deduced correctly, this was my 65th and not my 13th. In fact 65 isn’t even evenly divisible by 13 using anything but modulo math which simply allows one to point out a remainder as if that were natural, which of course it is but it is also a stretch to say that’s an even division.

Oh look, I’m babbling like an old man … when did I start doing that?

So, I was going to say that nothing bad had ever happened to me on a 13th. Way back in 2007 I lost my mother, 2009 saw my mother in law pass away and then in 2011 my first wife passed.

I was expecting the worst in 2013. What happened? If you believe that numbers have spirits then I’d have to say that 13 had been paying attention when I had been touting its virtues and singing its praises. I survived 2013 pretty much unscathed. I ended the year feeling like there was hope at least that I would live out my life quietly and pleasantly, if lonely and perhaps somewhat bored.

But 2013 was a launch pad for a new life for me. I couldn’t see it at the time, it was a slow start, but a start all the same.

I found friends. I found love. I found work here and there doing this and that. And every 13th of January there was a party.

Where am I now?

I was thinking as this year approached that I would now be a senior citizen and that this would be the first time good old 13 had let me down.

But then I got pondering the fact that I’ve had two wives that I loved and the second one is with me still. And now I have a 15 month old son who is the delight of my life these days.

I realized also that I had sort of descended down into retirement just as I was needed at home to be a stay at home parent. And I am loving that. I’m enjoying tremendously the time I get to cook and read with my son. the outings to the mall and the library and the pool and to see friends and do things.

What’s wrong with this picture?

I’m at a loss when it comes to explaining how being a senior is a bad thing. I get to yell, “Get Off My Lawn” and make people laugh. There’s a pension coming apparently. When I feel like moving slowly people understand and when I move quickly everyone says, “Good for you!” I get discounts for no other reason than my hair is white and frankly that’s the colour it was when I was a child of single digit years.

My son doesn’t care yet that I’m well seasoned. My wife seems to love me still. I highly doubt she’s after my pension ’cause we have no idea how small it’s going to be so far. My knees still work as do my hips. My arthritis has been a companion of mine since the late 1980’s so I can’t blame my advanced years for that.

Additionally, my ADHD causes me to find adventure in everything, to be unwilling to balk at challenges just because they have a less than one percent chance of success, and to completely forget how old I am most of the time. (There’s a switch in the ADHD brain, I am convinced, that should be flipped to off when one turns 19, that tells the brain it is still a child. Mine is still on.)

I spent my last day as a 64 year old worrying

I worried about new responsibilities and lack of energy. I worried about being an elder of the community and whether the community could survive that. I worried about the fact that I was turning 65 and still hadn’t figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Then I woke up on the morning of the 13th and had to push all that aside. There was the farmers’ market to get to, a boy to feed and dress before we went, friends to meet and talk with, errands to run, groceries to be bought, neighbours to chat with.

And then we had to get home to prepare for the arrival of some neighbours who were coming to talk and laugh and sing and eat and quietly watch to see what changes would occur to me when my odometer rolled over.

And then?

And somewhere during that time all the worries from the day before were sluiced away by the cleansing and healing powers of the 13th.

And I realized that once again, lucky number 13 had made it alright, and made it all … right.

I discovered I wasn’t any more than a day older than I had been on the 12th. And I decided that the 13th was the day that I would stop worrying about things, stop worrying about me.

So this is me!

I’m a senior now. I’m happier. I’m a dad. I’m a husband. I’m fun if you can put up with my dry humour and my incessant cheerfulness disguised as grumpiness. I’m pleased with myself. I’m excited to discover how many boxes of Kraft Dinner I’ll be able to buy with my pension.

And I don’t even care that, now that I’m officially old, I’ve apparently started to ramble incessantly and can’t seem to figure out how to end what I’m talking about. It just seems to go on and on.

Maybe I’ll just trail off and not actually quite … ……