At what age do we stop using our half birthday?
It was very important when we were kids to get that half in there. In 1st grade we made sure everyone knew when we turned six and a half. Even into sixth grade it was common knowledge who was eleven and a half…
… and by then we all had a kid in class that was held back and was already twelve.
January First is my half birthday. To most people it is New Year’s Day, but to me, it is when I can officially use my half age.
Since many of you Chalkheads are classmates of mine, it isn’t a surprise that I’ll be turning fifty-eight and a half this week.
I was so cocky when I was eight and a half or even twenty-eight and a half…
…not so much when I’m nearing sixty.
I packed a plastic tote up on Saturday morning to take to Goodwill. It was filled to the brim with things that we didn’t need any longer. I had George carry it down from the third floor and out to Betty the Green Blazer.
I told him to set it down behind the tailgate so I can move a couple things to make room. I picked it up and set it in, but when I picked it up it was extremely heavy.
I never noticed before when things were heavy.
George carried it down three sets of stairs and across the street like it was a stick of butter. I picked it up to set into the back of Betty as if it was an anvil made by Acme that I was delivering to Wile E. Coyote.
That isn’t the only thing.
I had to have George open a jar of minced garlic for me the other day.
This got me to thinking about using my half age again. I will be fifty-eight and a half on Wednesday. Which means that I’ll be the big six-zero in eighteen months.
My Gramma was sixty years older than me and she was freaking ancient. Gramma was born in 1906 and she watched everything from The Great War to astronauts going into space. Radios weren’t around when she was a kid…
…by the time I showed up in her life the Beatles just released their “Revolver” album.
My Gramma actually made it to 106 years old which enabled her to see the first “colored” President get elected.
Yeah, I know…. That isn’t politically correct, but that came from a woman who called her couch a davenport.
She didn’t know any better. My Gramma went to Mass several times a week and probably prayed for the colored people just as much as Dr. King did.
When I was seven and a half, I asked my mom why Gramma called black people colored people. That is when my Ma told me that they were called negros just before I was born. That is a story for another chalkboard. Maybe I can tell you the story when I was eleven and a half? When my mom and I watched “Roots” together and my world started to lose its innocence.
Anyway, I got a little carried away on turning sixty and comparing it to my Gramma who was classmates with Cleopatra.
Back to that crate that we took over to Goodwill. The whole way on the drive over to the Goodwill, I was thinking about how weak I felt.
Maybe I should make a New Year’s resolution and hit the bench press. I thought about calling Riverside’s best trainer Jerry Owen and telling him that I need his help.
I did drink a shit ton of eggnog these last few weeks. All four of my cheeks are a little puffier and my chin is dragging my collar. Maybe I should call Jerry?
I’m going to be fifty-eight and a half on Wednesday and my fifteen and a half year old son can probably bench more than me.
I didn’t mean to wake up on Monday morning feeling sorry for myself?!?!
I should be happy that I’ll be celebrating a half birthday on Humpday!?!?!
Today is the last Monday of 2024. After a dreary weekend, we should get a peek at the sun. Maybe long enough to notice that our shadows are slightly shrinking.
Just last week the sunset was ten minutes earlier than today. Before you know it, we will be back in bikinis and speed-o’s.
Go be astonished and go smile back at the sun today
