Writer finds himself old in dog years

It's hard to summarize a half century of life.

Traveling down memory lane gets harder the older you get.

I turned the Big 5-0 on Monday.

My wife and kids and friends wouldn't let me forget it.

I got my share of black balloons, a plastic black coffin, an over-the-hill parking permit, a "whine" list, a black T-shirt proclaiming that I "got old" and a blow-up cane. I got the usual fun-loving cards too, like the one from my wife pointing out that I'm 350 years old in dog years but only 3 1/2 years in redwood tree years.

That's true love. Only my wife would think to compare me to a dog or a giant tree.

I think the tree sounds better. Even in dog years, 350 sounds way too old even for a pre-AARP guy like me.

I got a special look from my kids, too. The one that says, "Wow. I can't believe you're that old."

To an 11-year-old and an 8-year-old, it's hard to imagine 50 years of age, much less put it into words.

Still, they gave me hugs. Becca and Bailey appeared genuinely happy that I wasn't confined to a rocking chair.

"You're old and gray and you have a nose of hay," they gleefully sang to me. Fortunately, there's no truth to the hay thing. I have hay fever so it would be disastrous if I really had a nose of hay.

I don't fit the gray profile, either. At least, not yet.

Several of my friends pointed out that I still have dark hair. There's no telltale gray to give away my half-century of existence.

There are times, however, when I feel like using the cane or at least taking a nap.

As for the "whine" list, I could have majored in that years ago. Age has nothing to do with it.

Joni surprised me with a surprise birthday party on Sunday night. I hadn't expected it. In fact, we'd been so busy lately I figured my birthday might just slide right by without anyone even noticing.

That would have been OK. Turning 50 didn't hit me nearly as hard as turning 40.

When you get to the half-century mark, you've got more on your mind than birthday cake.

In many ways, Monday was just another day. Joni and I celebrated it by getting the kids off to school for the start of the spring semester.

A co-worker of Joni's celebrated her 30th birthday on Monday. I couldn't even remember my 30th birthday.

When you're Becca's and Bailey's ages, birthdays are major events. There's cause to celebrate getting older.

At my age, a birthday is just an excuse for a party and a chance for friends to pore over your baby pictures and marvel at how good you used to look.

Most of my friends are younger than I am. That's good. There will be plenty of time for payback.

When I think how old I am, I can't help thinking about a railroad bridge near the St. Louis County home where I grew up. The bridge was built the same year I was born. But it didn't last nearly as long. It was replaced years ago.

Somehow, it makes me feel good to know I outlasted that old bridge.

Centuries ago, 50 would have been old age. Now, it's just another number, although admittedly it's more of a fire hazard when it comes to birthday candles.

But none of this concerns my family. They're used to all that hot air.

Mark Bliss is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.