THINKING ABOUT LIFE & NUMBERS

(edit of previously published blog on another blog site - 10/13/12)

Rumor has it that on Sunday I'll be 75 years old. Of course, we all know the reputation that "rumor" has.

Yet, the number has a significance to me as it was at this age our Dad "Sully" passed away and I'm the first of his male siblings to get there.

It's funny how often we choose the term "passed away" - "gone now" "lost" and
"with God", as opposed to "died", when describing the death of someone we cared for.

Perhaps it's the permanence of the latter reference  and the wishfulness of the former that encourages us to do so - as if we were hoping for a Lazarus moment.

In the eyes of many, Dad passed away too soon.In the eyes of a few it may be "up for grabs." This is not unlike the feelings that most of us will engender from some simply by us "Going on to that Great reward". (How on earth did I miss that one?).

We are a culture of numbers. We longed to be a "teenager" at 13 to distinguish us from being a child. We lusted for becoming 16, the age in Pennsylvania where you could legally drive.

We couldn't wait till we reached the age of 21 and could drink legally - or at the very least be carded and finally smile back in confidence when asked to produce proof of our age.

As a member of a significant gaggle of teenage males in my day, I recall there was a quest for another number - as in "#1". that number represented the first time we had successfully deflowered a member of the opposite sex - and now no longer had to lie about the possibility.

 Oddly enough, that was not a priority for me. At least, not nearly as important to me as my making the team in one sport or another. Perhaps I was a member of the remedial class.

Some of us are enamoured - or perhaps fascinated is the correct word-  with the age at which our parents - particularly our Dad - if we are male - suffered various physical ailments including death.

 It was our Mom - who upon hearing from the nurse of my dad's official demise following the removal of all life saving devices - confirmed that death was.
not only "final" but, in the case of Dad, "Poor Dad - he never had vey good luck - and this is the worse. "  We refer to it as "Dad's most unlucky experience."

 Probably his most fatal flaw - as well.

One of my siblings and I shared our mutual fears not too long ago. As we did so, we admitting sharing a apprehension as we approached the age when Dad had, in order, suffered: a nervous breakdown, his first heart attack, and the loss of his leg.

We were still relatively young when these events occurred - and were searching to see if ther might be a pattern.

All were biggies and deeply etched in our memory as if to say, "Well, by gosh, he sired us - so we're bound to follow in his path."

The logic was flawed. Genes are unlike a Chinese menu where you can choose or refuse items from each column at will.

 Let's just use another example to prove that we were not exactly male replicas. We both were quite certain that neither of us could have consumed as much Vodka in one sitting as Dad - and still remained standing and attempting to dominate the conversation.

Another clue was that this was not a search for an eligible liver transplant donor. We were different from Dad who in turn had a life path was unlike that of either his Mom or Dad.

Yet, I recall hearing one day from one of my own kids: "So, when did your back first go out?", as if that would be a reliable predictor as to when they should start stocking up on Aleve.

To the best of my limited biological knowledge Dad's are "perhaps" one-half of the gene pool - and it's a pool that comes from a stream that probably has been running down hill for a heckuva lot of years - with tributaries going off in many different directions.

However,  it is not foolish for all of us  to become knowledgable about our gene pool and be tested regularly for a negative repetetive gene.

As for me at the age of 75?

I just prefer to look skyward and say, "Thanks!" - and take a wait and see attitude.