Thoughts on Turning 50

I turn 50 in June.

As a kid, I believed people who lived to be fifty were old. Now, I find myself on the brink of turning 50, an age considered ancient and out of touch by kids today. Granted, as we age, we like to lessen the burden of aging by calling 50 the new 40, or 40 the new 30. And if you live to be 80, I don't care what you say, there isn't anything new about that.

To be honest, I dread the half-century birthday. I'm not sure why...it just feels like that's when the downhill slide begins. The spam emails I find in my inbox on a regular basis don't help me cope with this milestone. Lately, I've received a few emails from "Silver Singles." Though it sounds somewhat classy, my wife of 27 years wouldn't appreciate me dating at this stage in my life. But the email that really stung was the one I received from a group called "Elderly Dating." Although my family laughed about it...I didn't find it that humorous. Are these folks uploading their profiles from nursing homes and senior centers?

Sometimes my brain forgets I'm nearing the half-century mark. Things I used to do without thinking twice about it, now become life threatening events. You know, like taking steps two at a time or climbing out of the tub without holding the handrail. Those times my brain forgets, my body reminds me later.

The other day, my eldest son came home from his part-time job and talked about an older customer he served at the deli. I knew better than to ask about the patron's age, but I did anyway. He said, "Oh, about 50." Ouch! My son realized that my fiftieth was a rapidly approaching and said, "But Dad, I don't think of you as old..." Nice try, son. Nice try.

I guess 50 comes with its benefits...you know, like AARP and Senior Discounts at McDonald's. Now, there's talk by Congress of some people qualifying for Medicare at the age of 50. Sign me up. Our health insurance plan costs more than a luxury home payment...and I need to start saving for the "home" I might be admitted to in the next 15 or 20 years.

So, my pity party raged on inwardly until this past weekend. I watched the PGA championship and marveled at 50 year old Phil Mickelson. A consummate professional, he became the oldest player to ever win this golf tournament. Young bucks, decades his junior, couldn't match his play or his composure on the course. At each hole, he visualized the shot, took some deep breaths, and drove the ball towards the green. Though a couple of the younger golfers made a late charge, Phil held on for the unprecedented victory.

The commentators watched in awe as Phil Mickelson played with poise, noting that they had the privilege of watching history. Las Vegas posted the odds of Mickelson winning as 300-1. It really didn't matter, because Mickelson bet on himself. According to the LA Times, Mickelson, who called Sunday “certainly one of the moments I'll cherish my entire life,” surpassed the feat of Julius Boros, who was 48 when he won the PGA Championship in 1968. “It's very possible that this is the last tournament I ever win,” said Mickelson, who won for the 45th time on tour. "This is just an incredible feeling because I believed it was possible, but everything was saying it wasn't."

I guess I dread fifty, because it signifies that I've lived 2/3 of my life. If God blesses me with another 25 years, there's a significant chance that health problems await and the aging process will take its toll. But in the meantime, there's life still to live. All of our six children still live at home. They need an energetic, enthusiastic Dad, not one laden with the internal pity of getting older. My wife needs a husband excited about life and the future, not one focused on scoping out the best long-term nursing facilities in our neck of the woods. And just think, a televised golf tournament helped change my outlook.

Thank-you, Phil. You helped give me a new perspective on turning 50. I'm looking forward to joining you in that club.