counting by sevens

Some years ago I read something that stuck with me. It had to do with the way age was counted in the olden days -- namely, by sevens.

And when I thought about it, it made sense to me.

At age 7, kids had survived childhood. They were becoming conscious of the world around them. Little girls had their first communion, little boys could start learning a trade.

At 14, they could become apprentices -- for a period of seven years. Girls got their periods and could become mothers. Boys could become fathers. If you were Jewish, you got mitzvahed. You begin to regard yourself as an adult, unaware that the rest of society doesn't.

At 21, you are officially a person. You can vote and drink. You're in fabulous physical health. The world is your oyster.

At 28, you're at the very peak of your physical powers if you're a male athlete. If you're a quantum physicist, you're at the very peak of your mental powers. From this point on, the graph begins to curve downward in those two key categories.

But 35... ah, what a time in your life... if you haven't blown it. And even if you've blown it, you've got time to recover.

And since I have recently passed through the 42, 49, and 56 year plateaus, and am approaching the next one this year, I'll be ruminating on them in subsequent posts.

1943

All of us born in that year are now, officially, old. At least in our own minds. (My mom, who's pushing 90, says she thinks of us sixty-somethings as young.)

But we're not. Something's changed. That's why it hurts extra-much to watch Mick Jagger prancing around at the Super Bowl. We know he must feel sheepish about it. Somewhere in his mind he's saying, Jeez, Mick, you're sixty fucking two years old. It's cool that you're still skinny and you can still shake your booty, but the 20 somethings in the audience aren't getting all gooey inside the way they did when you were 22.

But like everyone else born in 1943, you've gone from being a sexual potentate to a sexual inconsequent. And if you're like Mick Jagger that must be the biggest blow of all.

62

That's how old I am. It seems hard to believe.

I was born in 1943 -- the same year as Mick Jagger, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Sly Stone, Jack Bruce, Oliver North, and Lt. William Calley.

1943: A good year for music and death.

new direction

Okay. We're going in a slightly new direction here. There's plenty of GREAT people writing about politics (see instapunk.com & rachellucas.com) and I have relatively little to add, so I'm gonna be babbling about something I know something about: getting old. And I'll be doing it in fits and starts, a dribble at a time.

Which seems appropriate, given the subject.