Dad gave me the impression that he was not excited about turning 60. Does this look like the face of someone who’s not excited?
Antron arranged to rent a private plane for Dad’s birthday, and they flew over our farm, Uncle Marlan’s farm, and the town of Grand Mound. I haven’t talked to my family yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s the best gift anyone could have given him. Well, that, or my flying to Iowa so I could mow the lawn.
Just as it is surreal to hear that the girls I used to babysit are graduating college, it is also surreal to know my father is 60 years old. In my mind’s eye, the standard image of him is at about age 35. That’s probably when I was old enough for my brain to create a significant impression. Funny, I always think of my mom as being 28. There’s seven years difference between them, so my image impression theory just went from half-baked to … three-quarters baked. I’m fairly certain that was the age where my hero worship for my parents was at its peak. It’s not that I don’t care about them now, it’s just more of a “I want to live next door to you and sit on the porch and count deer and talk about current events” affection than the childhood feeling of absolute protection and absolute say.
I’m glad to see that my dad had such a great birthday treat. I’m already planning on taking him bungee jumping for his 70th birthday. Or some nice, bland oatmeal with no raisins (they might excite him too much). I think it’ll be up to him to decide how he acts – he certainly doesn’t look like a senior citizen, what with his trim figure and farmer tan. And he’s spent enough time teaching junior high students to not be completely out of the current-culture loop. I think the sign of old age will be when he finally starts up crankyoldguy.blogspot.com.
