"No! It's where old people go to rest. And then they die."
I'm not certain my granddaughters fully appreciate that their sainted grandfather, while admittedly on the cusp, is a member of that "rest" generation.
Despite a certain stigma attached to the "golden years," I daresay they can be quite satisfying. With the trappings of career and achievement gracefully set aside, it's a time for reflection and significance. It's also a time for challenges and growth — something I wouldn't necessarily have anticipated a few years ago.
Among many different things, this senior derives joy from watching and listening to young folks sing. Sometimes he even gets a little choked up when that happens.
When I was 30, you couldn't make me cry were you to rip duct tape off my hirsute chest, drive a wire brad through the back of my hand with a staple gun, or dip me in boiling oil. I was hard-bitten. No one ever saw this macho dude cry. No one!
But now, in my 60s, I've become the "waterworks," as my dad used to call it. I'm almost as obnoxious as Rep. John Boehner (R-Ohio) — though, truthfully, a bit more dialed-back. I do "lose it" on cue, however, when jets over-fly the Army-Navy — or any — football game; when sappy movies are screened; and when anything by Tchaikovsky is played.
What's wrong with me? Nothing! I'm 35 years older and hopefully a bit wiser. I've gained an appreciation for the beauty — and brevity — of life.
Earlier this month, my wife, Hedy, and I attended the fourth annual holiday luncheon hosted by the Orange County Chapter of the National Parkinson's Foundation at Hoag Memorial Hospital Presbyterian.
For the third year in a row, the Madrigal Singers of Corona del Mar High School graced the event with a lovely performance of Christmas carols. The 25-member group is under the direction of Val Jamora.
The food and conversation were great, but the fresh-faced high-schoolers "made" the event for most of us.