To my mom I'm young. To my daughters I'm old. That's must be what is meant by age being relative. Several things have happened recently to make me reflect on the years that I have seen and those that are yet to come. Being 47 also probably means I've lived over half of my earthly existence. Nothing in my family genes suggests anything different. I've made it to the top of the mountain and I'm working my way down the other side. Taken literally that means I'm "over the hill", but I still feel like I did when I was a much younger man. Lord knows I am still accused of acting somewhat juvenile at times. But what do my kids know anyway?
I knock around with a group of guys who are in their mid thirties. Perhaps I'm closer to their fathers' ages than to theirs, but sometimes I feel like I'm from another planet. I'm a borderline Baby Boomer and they are one of those alphabet generations - X or Y or something like that. I never have taken the time to figure out what those younger groups stand for, so maybe our parallel universe existence is partially my fault. Only partially though. That younger generation seems to have no clue about where we've been, nor any understanding of the how and why today's world is as it is. Take for example that fact that neither of my thirty-something friends had a clue about the ground breaking, 1970's family sitcom, The Partridge Family. Two of them never even heard of it. Surely Mr. Kinkade is rolling over in his grave. One of my younger buddies at least made an attempt, although his assertion that Mrs. Partridge had a son named John Boy left my eyes rolling behind my bifocals. I kept my thoughts to myself and, somewhat exasperated, muttered under my breath - "Kids!"
The other wake up call to my humanity came when I was looking for a part time job as a baggage handler for a large national airline. I made it through the initial phases of the hiring process and was required to have a medical examine. Filling out the form sure took a lot longer than it used to. There are so many more medical procedures and dates to recall. I handed it to the nurse and her review of it took even longer. She said I will have to go back to my family doctor and have her provide clarification of a few issues I've had over the years. I was still in the game but I had a couple of strikes against me. Next was a hearing test. I passed but needed my hearing aids to do so. Finally, she hooked me up to a heart monitoring device to do an EKG. Wouldn't you know it, I was told to go see my doctor about that too. It seems that test indicated that a part of my heart may be enlarged. I'm not too concerned, but I have gone to see my doctor to double check.
At this point I'm not sure if I'm going to pursue the job with the airline. With all of those strikes, I'm not sure they would want me anyway. To add insult to injury, Lynda says that my medical results say that I'm a ticking time bomb and airlines don't like bombs. Funny!
In any event, I don't plan on dying any time soon. There are millions of youngsters out there who need me around to teach them about the pinnacle events of the 70's: Fonzie, on water skis, jumping over the shark; Laura Ingalls growing up on the prairie; the White Shadow schooling Coolidge and friends in high school basketball and life; and Kotter sparring with the sweat hogs.
When my time does come, perhaps my headstone can reflect the life I lived. I'm hoping it says something like:
James NIXON
1965-2065
loving husband, proud father, cracked grandpa
He had a big heart.
