The Indoorsman -- Septuagenarian soliloquy

My dad turns 70 this week, and that is blowing my mind.

See, 70 is old. And my dad isn't old.

I mean, sure, he's a grandfather of four. And his hearing has been going for years now. And -- wait a minute, maybe he is old. But you'll pardon me for not seeing him that way.

Not wanting to see one's parents as old is natural. But, for me at least, it's not a fear-of-mortality thing, or whatever psychiatrists and Woody Allen would have you believe. It's more a question of my difficulty reconciling my parents' advancing ages with their personalities. In my dad's case, it's hard for me to think of someone as old when he's still working full time as a pharmacist, still cracking wise and still going to college football games (and stopping for a bloody mary or two before kickoff).

I talked to him Sunday. Asked him how the weekend was. He said he didn't do much. He and Mom saw an art-house flick on Friday, had friends over on Saturday and went to see a play on Sunday. Friends? Cultural activities? Who are these people? They didn't do that stuff when I was around. It's like they're actually getting younger as they age. They're hip or something, which is an odd realization to have about one's parents.

They're also blessedly uncouth if you catch them in the right spirit. We were at a family wedding in Los Angeles last summer, and as tends to be the case at weddings in my family there was much revelry and merriment. (Drinking, I'm talking about drinking.) So my mom says to him, "Jim, do you want to go to the Rose Bowl tomorrow?" She's referring to the stadium. My dad, a University of Michigan man, gets this petulant look on his face and replies, "I'm not going unless I'm starting." It's not the funniest thing I've heard him say, but most of the really funny stuff isn't appropriate for a newspaper. And, anyway, that crack in particular just killed me. That's just so Dad.

Of course, that's just one surface-level aspect of him; he's funny, sure, but he's also the best man I know. When I was in middle school, he had to move back to Michigan to work while we stayed behind in Georgia to sell the house. It took a lot longer than he expected. He flew home every three weeks to spend the weekend with us. But it killed him to be away. He did it because he had to, because it was best for all of us, because he always has put his family ahead of himself.

So, that's my dad, too. He's wickedly funny. He's a man of great integrity. He's a softy who cries at midnight Mass every Christmas. He taught me how to throw a baseball, how to keep things in perspective, how to behave as a man. He also taught me how to respond when people ask me what I ultimately want out of life. The answer is always so easy.

I tell them I want to be like my dad. And if I'm anything like him when I turn 70, I don't think I'll feel old at all.

-- The Indoorsman