On Turning 60

I am sixty years old today. I guess that is old.  I didn't get the memo. I don't feel any different than when I was in my fifties.  Oh well. Not everyone gets to be sixty.  My friends who died young never got here. Those military people who died in all the various wars never got here.  Mozart didn't make it either.  Unfortunately, the priests that I depended on for counsel have died.  One was close to 80. The other was in his late fifties. I should replace them but the whole idea of replacing a confident doesn't seem possible.

I don't remember being born.  Some people say they do.  Well, I don't.  In fact, I have no memories of living in Glendale where I was born.  My earliest memories were from the time I was about a year and a half.  We had a tiny home in National City with five kids packed in the house. I remember all the fighting and squabbling that occurred.  My memory gets better by the time I was four.  My oldest brother was also born on the 20th of November.  We would celebrate together until he left home.  He was thirteen years older than me. He didn't get to be 50 much less 60 as he was killed by a drunk driver. I remember turning 10.  I thought that was a big deal.  Those round years seem to be cause for extra celebration.

So I got another round year.  My father told me he used to think 60 was old until he was sixty.  He said the same about 80.  When he was 90, he finally felt old.

Birthdays are a family thing.  My mother would baked a cake and serve it with ice cream. Every year she would call. I would get reminded of her labor and the fight to give me a name.  My father wanted to name me after his favorite uncle, Guy Bryson.  The rest of the family didn't agree, so my sister erased Guy from the intake sheet and gave me Timothy.  Clarence, my middle name is from my uncle who died when the USS Juneau was sunk on November 13, 1942.  There is one survivor from that ship left.  I spoke with him last year and thanked him for his service. My mother told my Uncle Clarence that he should join the navy as it would be a safer service than the Army or Marines.  She felt guilty about that the rest of her life.  It was ok as my mother like to feel guilty. My Uncle Guy had the Purple Heart from Clarence. When his widow died, my father took possession of it. My father said he would give it to me but it must have got lost after my parents died. Nonetheless, I remember Clarence by my name. I bought a car at the salvage yards in Otay Mesa, San Diego. The lady who ran the DMV service was Mexican.  She put my name on the registration as Timothy Clarence.  She presumed my true last name was my matrilineal name so my car is owned by Mr. Clarence.

So at this point, I haven't figured it out yet.  I don't know what it is all about. Physics keeps changing and it boggles my mind to study string theory. Some people appear to have a certainty about things. Perhaps that is a good thing.  I don't share it.