In a few months I’ll turning 55. That is officially old as far as I’m concerned. I will never forget when I was around 5 year old and sitting on Aunt Essie’s back porch looking down into the backyards below. I saw my neighbor’s dad walking towards his garage when suddenly, he sneezed and his teeth popped out into his hand!
He was 55.
I’m lucky that I still have all of my teeth – except for 3/4 of one molar that has had two crowns and one root canal. I’d like to think that I don’t look 55 – or at least I don’t look as old as I remember my neighbor’s father looked. But, I probably do look just as old.
I’ve been shaving my head bald for years. I’m kind of ugly. My mouth droops into a permanent frown when I’m not actively smiling – no matter how content I feel on the inside. I’ve got laugh lines, eye crinkles, forehead furrows and some age spots.
Around Christmas this year I decided to grow out my winter beard. It’s white – with just a few flecks of grey and light brown.
I’m thrilled my fitness is high and that I’ve managed to drop my weight down to a ripped 140 lbs. I’m nor muscular and leaner than I’ve ever been in my life.
But, looking in the mirror, I’d say I look old.
Because I am.
I never thought I’d live to be 55. But here I am and it’s fine with me.
