I plan on celebrating my 70th birthday in October this year. The second, to be exact; that’s when I happened. 

With nearly seven decades under my belt, no experience I’ve ever had nor any maturity I may possess could prevent the patina of a common childhood myth from holding me in its spell. That myth? A day or moment comes when every boy and girl becomes a grown-up. 

We knew that all boys and girls we knew would become grown-ups. Some of us thought being a grown-up automatically meant you were honest, reliable, sane, wise, and flush with integrity itself. Once a grown-up, managing your life became a piece of cake. Grown-ups were in charge of the world! I mean, hell, when you’re a kid, it seems like every adult on the planet, especially those raising you, controls the steering wheel of your life, nearly all the bloody time!

Reality plays no favorites, and a myth is a myth, and I own that. A recent foray into the land of smittification, that moment when someone’s countenance so dazzles you, English becomes your second language, which is a real problem if, like me, it’s the only language you know, did not last the way we’d both hoped. The wounds of our histories can make intimacy a scary place to be. I think this is not lost on many seniors. 

Be kind to yourself and each other. And, if there are ways to deplete history’s decision-making power in your life, you deserve to know about them.