The odometer in my car tells me that I have driven thousands of miles in the last six weeks or so. My tired body confirms it. When I’m not commenting on the driving skills of others, I occupy myself with the steady passing of the little green mile markers. I know mile post 156 on Interstate 40 in Arkansas is in the Little Rock metro area. Believe it or not that little tidbit has been useful on occasion.
Before little green signs, miles were marked by stones. The road of life has its own version of milestones. Some we get to see, some we’re too busy to see, some are not on our route and the two biggest, most traumatic ones, we don’t even remember. At least, not during our earthly life. The point is not everyone gets to see every marker. That can be both good and bad.
I am in Oklahoma today watching the roadside for one of those. We are celebrating my son’s 50th birthday. It was three days ago, but as we’re all older we tend toward easy and convenient when it comes to celebrating.
The numbers don’t lie but it’s still hard to believe the boy whose T ball team I coached is fifty years old. I know he’s not a boy. I’m nearly deaf, not blind. But fifty! I know this won’t happen with my daughter. She refuses to age beyond 29.
I’m happy to be passing this milestone, like I said, not everyone gets to. My father didn’t, nor did his father. Jay is a good man in whom I take a lot of pride. He’s a retired police captain with a fine family of his own. He’s a man who has given of himself to serve others honorably. No father could ask for more.
Happy birthday, son. Let’s party until 7:30!
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