I was always on the look out
for special birthday cards for my dad.
It was always fun trying to pick
out a humorous card,
the kind that always made
fun of your age no matter how old you were.
I never cared for any other kind unless
it was a blank note card with a special
handwritten note.
Anyway,
I had received an advertisement
for a book offer in the mail.
It showed a seventy-two year old man,
the Charles Atlas type,
muscle-bound,
for those of us old enough
to remember him.
I do not know why I received this in the mail.
Somehow I had gotten on someone’s list
as being a little older, like by thirty years.
Sometimes I just feel that old
because I’m out of shape.
The ad said that you could
look like this at age seventy-two.
I was going to send it to my dad this year
and ask him if he looked anything
like the guy in the picture,
only that my dad didn’t make it to age seventy-two.
He was short by seven months and nine days,
and I don’t know if I will make it to the age of seventy.
My dad’s father made it to his eighties,
his grandfather made it to his nineties.
Each generation’s life span seems
to get shorter and shorter.
Maybe I will only make it to sixty
if the trend continues,
but it really doesn’t matter
as long as I enjoy my life
like I know my father did.
He will be missed,
but not forgotten.
Happy Birthday Dad.
You would have been seventy-two
had you lived until November.
While we are at it,
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Life goes on,
but some things we always remember.
Yeah, Dad,
you didn’t make it to seventy-two,
and I miss you.
Take care
to all of
who still remember.
—
