I’m officially old now: Sign me up for AARP

Bad news for me: I turn 50 today. The 50 part isn’t the bad news. The bad news is that it feels like now that I’m 50, maybe I should start growing up.

For starters, by figuring out what I want to be when I, you know, grow up.

I mean, this writing thing is going OK and all, but seriously, that’s not the kind of thing a grown man does to make a living.

And then, sports. I spend way too much time thinking about and worrying about sports teams and players and whether or not they win this game or that game.

A lot of wasted time, there.

I’m going to grow a beard. Yeah, yeah, famous last words. I’ve tried numerous times, and always give up when it gets out to, I dunno, four days, because it itches.

I’m at the four-day mark now. It’s coming in, and it hurts for me to say this, a bit gray.

A gray beard will make me look distinguished.

It won’t actually make me distinguished in any appreciable way, but looking the part is a big start.

I think I’ll keep sleeping with a teddy bear. Nobody has to know about that.

And I think I’ll keep the Vans. I’ll wear the black Vans when I’m trying to look more respectable.

And my niece likes it when I talk like Scooby Doo, so I’ll keep in practice so I can still do that on command.

Speaking of doing things on command, I have to keep the being able to say “burp!” when I burp little oddity.

OK, I don’t think it’s so odd. They call them “burps” for a reason.

I think it’s odd that nobody else actually says “burp!” when they burp.

The more I think about it, I’m nowhere near being ready to do this growing up thing.

Which makes this turning 50 thing feel, I dunno.

I don’t feel 50.

My parents were already grandparents three times over by the time they were 50.

I have … six dogs.

They’re all cute, but beware, the really cute one thinks he’s a piranha.

My mother-in-law called me today to tell me that 50 just means I’m halfway there, but honestly, I don’t want to live to be 100.

I’ve met 100-year-olds. I had a great-grandmother who lived to be 102. She didn’t look good.

Universe-willing, I live to, like, 87, healthy as a horse, still writing like I’m running out of time, surrounded by dogs, my doting wife, and then, I dunno, we leave with the dolphins for dinner at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

Anyway, I’m officially old now. Sign me up for AARP.