Well, we're not so young anymore.
You see, our youngest brother recently celebrated (Hmmm?) his 50th successful loop of ol' Sol so that means my dear mother now has 4 sons all in their 50s. What an outstanding thrill that must feel like, eh? It's likely only surpassed by the warm fuzzy of 4 sons in their 50s with one of them retired (giggle).
I fall much closer to the first scenario, opting for a a shrug and a "meh" in response to the topic. Some that I have engaged in the conversation lament about the increasing wrinkles, sags and creaks that accompany their "ripening". I truly don't mind wrinkles, choosing to see them as Laugh Lines that were well earned. As for sags, faithful readers of this Blog know that my rollercoaster life on the weight loss ride have resulted in areas of stretched skin that don't rebound as well at my age when I rein in my inclination toward portliness. Genetics being what they may, I see more and more of my father staring back at me in the mirror. As for procedures or treatments, the only thing I have relented to is glasses, and that was simply because my arm length is steadily shrinking with each passing minute, making reading print nigh impossible. If I'm honest, I should include my transformation into a MAMIL as a potential treatment since I can't be one without being middle-aged, but I feel comfortable embracing my progression along the continuum.
Back to my brother ...
Obviously, getting older is not something we can have any control over, like the saying, "Time waits for no man", but I find it fascinating to gauge the cornucopia of reactions to the inevitable march toward the "other side". Some accept it with a simple shrug; some are simply annoyed with what they view to be progressive failings of their body; some spur the notion as vehemently as they can, opting for all manner of procedures and treatments in an attempt to stave off the ravages.
Curious, no?
I would actually be thrilled if my hair and beard went white!
Maybe it's a little bit of agism, but in the opposite way it's usually referred to.
My father went silver-grey in his late 50s and my mother almost white in her late 60s, likely the reason that I find that senior citizen trademark an enviable quality. My specific colouring is more along the double dirty blond shade with a dark reddish beard. The stuff on top blends the grey annoyingly well while my beard is a messy mash of dark and white. All of that leaves me waiting patiently for genetics to kick in to full on "geezer" mode.
Michael Andrew doesn't conjure up thoughts and images of a "Golden Oldie" with your initial introduction to him and all his glory. The greying beard certainly hints toward the 26, 298, 720 minutes he's roamed this planet, but the equally greying mohawk ... yes, MOHAWK ... inclines your guess to something more juvenile. When he blesses you with some of his famous witticisms, you become further confused since his tendency devilish satire is strong, steering your opinion slightly left of the age-appropriate center line. You'll also realize, quite quickly I'd add, that this is one fun-loving, giggly whelp who takes great delight in breaking the boundaries of "normal".
I personally think he's brilliant.
Happiest birthday thoughts, dear brother, and big love from your older, wiser sibling.
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