OLDING

What is the greatest part about getting old?

Jeff Pinner, Not as evolved as my age suggests. Still plays with trains.

At 63, the older I get, the more I lose. I lost my oldest brother three weeks ago. Speaking at his memorial, I went back to a time when he, two of my three other older brothers and I visited Yosemite Park together in 1964. Chuck was 24 and in charge, Steve 18, Darryl 15, and I was 9. Overnight at the base if the falls. When I brought it up, Steve and Darryl both let out a whoop in the pews that broke up the entire somewhat solemn occation. By the time I finished the story of four idiots ignoring all safety precautions at the top of the falls to stick our heads in the river to cool off, the gathering had finally gotten off the solemn mark, and become the celebration it was meant to be. Mission accomplished.

Every year I get older, I lose something. This year, so far, my oldest brother. By the end of it, I expect ovarian cancer will take my wife. 21 years ago, my mother, the lady who both taught me that I AM an SOB, and how to be the best SOB I can be. 4 years later my dad, who taught both giving my best, and when to declare “close enough for government work”. 5 years ago, my second oldest brother, who gave incredible meaning to the words “by your bootstraps”, dragging himself from the depths of alcoholism to rescue his teen son from the depths of schizophrenia. Those losses are reminders of how blessed I have been. The magnificent people whom have graced my life are the trophies on my mantle, and it is only with age that we see them for who they are and were.

Now, in retirement, I get to count those whom I have touched. The millions of patients whose lives I made a bit safer with software that insured their prescriptions wouldn't interact with each other to make them sicker, or contain something that would send them into anaphylactic shock. Small touches, but not inconsiderable. Maybe even someone reading this. The son I raised, who, with his wife, are becoming foster parents, just ’cause kids need them. The banks I helped merge. Oh well, can't get ’em all right. Sorry about that, folks.

Now, I get to work on something that won't pay a dime, in fact it could break me financially, but it's important. I'm studying the world's first packet switching networks, railroads. My goal? To understand how one specific railroad, in one specific time, helped save the world. The time? April and May of 1944. The road? The Nickle Plate Road in NE Ohio. Saved the world? I don't know what you would call it when a railroad operates at a tempo the world has never seen to move the men and material from west to east to supply the greatest invasion the world has ever known. You've got my name for it. That and the one in the history books: D-Day.

Now, as I age, I get to remember how I became who I am, screw ups and all. I get to chose my targets without worrying about whether I can make money off of them. And I get to love those I will without wondering what anybody else thinks.

One more thing. Mom had a bit of fridge magnet wisdom on the front of hers in the final years of her life: Getting older isn't so bad when you consider the alternative.

Meditate on that for about 15 seconds. I'll wait.