EDITOR’S NOTE: Happy birthday to Butch! Let’s show Butch some love on his birthday – send your birthday wishes and greetings to editor@tillamookcountypioneer.net. Yes, Butch, let’s just keep on truckin’!
By Butch Freedman
“The days are slow, but the years are fast.” Not sure who said that, but it feels pretty accurate to me here on my 82nd birthday. I’m truly amazed it’s all gone so fast. I’d claim that I don’t feel that old, but some days I definitely do. The body inevitably breaks down in its multifarious ways. After all, how many cars made in the 1940’s do you see still driving around? At least, for now, the brain is still functioning—most of the time. Just don’t ask me to remember names, or nouns, or where I left my glasses. Anyway, today, I’m going surfing, so there’s still that. I’m hanging in—and enjoying life. When that stops—the enjoying thing—I’ll know it’s time to check out. Not trying to be morbid here, just the opposite. I simply don’t want to go on if I’m no longer able to feel or fend for myself. My wife, Beverly, and I have made that clear in our health directives. But that’s not what I want to dwell on, or even think about today—which is why I’ve previously thought about it and came to a decision.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely grateful to have lived this long, and remain relatively healthy. And I’m also grateful for advances in medical science that have provided me with lots of help along the path. (My two titanium knees and spinal fusion sure make it easier getting out on the water.) I also recognize that I have lived a very privileged life—a life where I’ve had access to all that medical care, and the ability to pay for it, or, more accurately to afford the health insurance that keeps old and young people alive. Many people are not that privileged, in third world countries, and increasingly in our own failing economy. Trump and the republicans have, for some unfathomable reason, made it a priority to cut health care for millions of Americans. Maybe so the billionaire class can pay even less taxes? If you’re looking for an answer to the question of whether advancing age makes one any smarter, look only to our fumbling fool of a president.
No, I don’t believe we get much wiser as we age. And some of us octogenarians become angry and resentful, flailing about to punish a world they no longer understand—again, observe trump and his ilk. But, what age can bring is a greater sense of equanimity and peace. Maybe it’s because we’ve given up the striving and intensity of younger years, and many of us have the security to be able to retire from the work world and live comfortable lives in places where we can enjoy nature and spend time with family and friends. (Again, a perk of the privileged.) Perhaps this sense of gratitude and, dare I say it—joy, is a function of a limited time frame. If you can’t have a laugh and a smile now, when do you think it might happen. Limited futures also have their benefits.
Of course, I’m not alone in this dive into the deep end of life. I’m part of the baby boomer generation. There are lots of us out here still, booming along. Still active, still protesting, still dressing and acting like the freaks we prided ourselves on being. I see no reason to give up on our dream of a more just society; there’s still plenty more work to do and also plenty more fun to be had. “Let’s keep on truckin’.”
