For the past four or five summers, I've either biked or run in Liberty Park first thing in the morning where I always give a nod to The Regulars like myself. One of them is an older man who wears some sort of armed forces golf hat, so over the years I've imagined him fighting in WWII. Maybe he was in Normandy, storming the beaches. Or maybe he was in the Pacific, fighting his way across the sands of Iwo Jima.
Whenever I see him, I feel like saluting and thanking him for his service.
And I still feel that way, although this morning it finally occurred to me that this gentleman--who I've been thinking of as old--may actually be closer to my vintage than to my uncles'. Which means he could be a vet of my generation's war. Vietnam.
Oh, honey. WHEN DID I GET TO BE THIS AGE?
4 comments:
He's probably thinking you were his fifth grade teacher.
You think you are young, and so you are, regardless of what the numbers say.
My husband's nephew passed through town this week. He is married with a 6-month-old son. My daughter who is a few months older than him is home for the summer. She is a returned missionary and will graduate from college next year. I am impressed that I had the restraint only to mention the pictures of the two of them at the zoo in matching onesies. I didn't make them look at them.
Darling, you will never, ever be old. That's how I see it. Don't try to argue with me.
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