Age Is Just a Number

I had a milestone birthday earlier this week. I turned 71. What makes turning 71 qualify as a milestone? Basically, it’s one more than 70.

I probably need to explain. My father died in 1990 at age 70. That set off a tiny alarm in my head that began chiming soon after I turned 60, some 11 years ago. To add to the alarm was this verse that comes from Psalm 90:  “The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and, if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.” In other words, you might get past 70, but you’re probably heading downhill from there.

Nevertheless, getting to 70, and maybe beyond, became a real goal for me. I brought this up a number of years ago with my sister-in-law Sandy, who told me that my older brother had also faced turning 70 with trepidation.

Brett sharing a fishing outing with my dad
more than 30 years ago

Now, my brother and I both look very much like my father. No one could question our link. But we have generally taken better care of our health than he did. Our father was much slimmer than either of us but not really in good shape. He had smoked non-filtered cigarettes since his teens and didn’t really cut back too much even after his first heart attack at age 49. His favorite exercise was fishing on Sunday mornings from a small rented boat with an outboard motor. His favorite “comfort food” was a large chunk of kosher salami accompanied by saltines, a slice of raw onion, and a can of Coke. Some people may turn up their nose at that snack, but I can understand the appeal, and I believe my father, who always worked hard and seldom complained loudly about anything, deserved his comforts. It is just sad that he didn’t live long enough to really enjoy having more time to fish or to snack..

But all of this doesn’t explain why 71 is a milestone for me. When I first turned 70, almost exactly 12 months ago, I thought I would feel a real sense of both accomplishment and relief. Then a crazy thought came into my mind: I would continue to be 70 until the day I got to be 71. So turning 71 became an aspirational goal. Along the way, I did decide to try to eat better and to lose some weight, to become a little less grumpy than the stereotypical 70-year-old man whom I have often resembled, and even to incorporate more of my father’s best traits — his gentleness and his solidness. I can only vouch for the losing weight part of my goals. Thanks to Weight Watchers point counting and some of the limitations imposed by pandemic sheltering, I have taken off more than 30 pounds this year. “It’s a good start,” I can hear Audrey saying inside my head, “but not an ending.” Maybe she is referring to the grumpiness part.

I would like to think that by turning 71 on my latest birthday, I have gotten not only older but also better. Imagine how much I can improve as I work toward my next milestone — turning 72.