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Reflections on Turning Sixty Years Old
Next week I turn sixty years old. It is a number that I had been dreading for many years, but age is something one has to come to terms with. There is nothing that can be done about turning the clock black and it needs to be looked at as just a number. We never said that as kids though. Each birthday number was so important then, but as we mature it is something we use to perhaps comfort us! Nevertheless, it is a time for reflection on life before moving on with the future
Mentally I still feel about eighteen years old. It is just the body that gives you a stern lesson if you attempt to do the physical things you did at that young age.
I was ok with fifty years old. I had a great celebration in Spain with my wife, mum and my brother. The number fifty seemed ok to me but sixty sounds very different.
As I reflect on my sixty years all my memories come flooding back about my Dad and his sixtieth birthday. It was one of the few times I bonded with him as an adult. I remember celebrating the evening in the pub and being his chaperone as we went up the road stopping at his various friends’ houses for a nightcap or two. I remember thinking how old he was. And now I am the same age.
Dad didn’t enjoy his latter life. Some of it was to do with his arthritis but when I think back I now realise he may well have…
