“Will You Still Love Me When I’m 64?” Repost
One of Dare To Dreams most visited posts has been my birthday post of January last year when I turned 62. So not to be one to deny a good thing, I’ve revisited the post for this year and did some editing to make it current to my now turning 63.
I must admit that this post is about me, so why a photo of the Anglican Cathedral in Liverpool? Because Liverpool is the place of my birth, January 8th 1946, and the Anglican Cathedral is a historic landmark but my birthday is not.
I could have used the Liver Building, the Metropolitan Cathedral and or the Mersy Docks but I really don’t think anything is as impressive as the Anglican Cathedral and those magnificent bells.
Of course if you’re my age you know that Liverpool is also the home of the Beatles, Gerry and the Pacemakers and Petula Clark.
Joking, I use to say that I was one of the original Beatles but I was to tall for the rest of the group so they got someone else. That joke has gone by the wayside and especially since a lot of the younger generation, here in the States, don’t remember or care who the Beatles were.
Growing up I always said that as I got older, I would not be pointing out my numerical number when birthdays rolled around…guess I lied. I can see why senior citizens reinforce their age, it is a mile stone when so many of your family and friends have passed before you and there is a validation to some sort of success and achievement in getting older.
When I was a teenager, I used to snicker at older adults on how they talked to their dogs and cats in conversation, as tho they expected an answer. I don’t snicker anymore and find myself “chatting” away with the puppy, Shadow (Sophie passed this year) and the cats, Snowball, Moses, Teatro, like children of the family…which I have grown to understand that they become.
As a child I loved Winter and I remember in later conversation with my Dad he made a predication. “The older you get, the more you’ll hate Winter and the older you get, you’ll find I was always right.”
Dad was right, I hate Winter, and the older I’ve gotten, boy oh boy, the smarter he has become.
Now I find myself turning 63.
You hear all the comments…”oh, age is just a number”…”your as old as you feel”…etc, but it doesn’t change the fact, things are different.
Different indeed. It takes a little longer to get out of a chair, find where you put your glasses and the up and down trips at night to the bathroom seems like a gym workout.
Having your birthday so close to Christmas as a child was always a downer. The Christmas card on the gifts would say, “Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday!”.
“No,” yelling silently in your thoughts, it’s suppose to say “Happy New Year”.
Envious of those who were fortunate enough to have Christmas gifts and Birthday gifts you smile, muddle through by opening the gift and saying your “thank you”.
It’s been fun having my birthday on Elvis Presley’s birthday. I’ve always told people that he and I get together on January 8th at the local Pizza Hut for dinner. Then I usually have to explain the joke about Elvis, the theory he’s not dead and the correlation to Elvis sightings. At that point it no longer becomes a joke and over the years I’ve stopped making the comment.
Of course growing up and being from Liverpool, one has to follow the FA Cup (soccer to us “yanks”), I must admit I am a “Big Red” supporter.
Here’s where I have to give equal time to the Everton Fans, which many of my relatives are followers, for Liverpool has been blessed with two great football teams.
Gerry and the Pacemakers sang a song that was to become synonymous with the Liverpool football team and if you every get to Liverpool and go to Anfield for a game you’ll hear over 85 thousand singing the song.
I think it’s fitting to end this post with that song along with a poem I wrote for my 50th birthday.
A Dragon Lives Forever…
Little Jackie Paper,
Where have you gone?
Where is the noble kings and princes?
Who frolics in the Autumn mist
By the sea?
Why silently lays the string and sealing wax
Along the cherry lane?
Who watches for billowed sails?
Who hears the roar of Puff’s magic name?
Painted wings and giant rings have given way
But what toys have taken their place?
Dragons live forever
But not so this little boy.