When I hit sixty it was a big deal for me internally.
Now I’m sixty-four.
Then I realized.
Hey. I’m sixty-four. Wasn’t there a Beatles song by that name? Didn’t I have some interaction with Paul McCartney when I was president of Soho Street, just around the corner from his recording studio on Soho Square?
Didn’t my mother-in-law make me two cherry pies?
Didn’t my mother-in-law give me a gift “#1 Officer”?
Didn’t my wife tell me happy birthday?
I’m a happy sixty-four year old man. And no — I’m not feeble yet. Still kickin’ well. Still do stairs okay. Still do squats. Still strugglin’ with my weight, even though it’s down a little bit. Not retired yet. Who could ask for more? Well, I’d like to be retired!
All being told, though, I’m a happy sixty four year old guy.