Cancíon de los Beatles por mì cumpleaños
BEATLES SONG BIRTHDAY
(with unrelated Gunnison River Escalante overlook mountain-bike sojourn accompanied by the dogs)
Rosco’s cousin, Ricardo Cabeza, entered the seventh decade of, uh, I was gonna say decadence, but no! decade of liberty and life and continued winning ways earlier this week. I should have attended his 60th-birthday dinner. I did, however, drop by his house later and chatted some with him and fiancée.
Our birthdays, though on different years, are just a few days apart. Ricardo started singing a song …
Cuando hacerme mas viejo,
Perdiendo mí pelo,
Muchos años de ahora —
¿ Quires tu todavía enviarme una tarjeta-de-San Valentìn,
Feliz cumpleaños, botella del vino ?
Si estaré afuera hasta cuatro-menos-cuarto,
¿ quires tu todavía cerrar la puerta ?
Quires tu todavía necesitarme,
Quires tu todavía comerme,
Cuando estoy sesenta-cuatro ?
Yeah, good ol’ sesenta-cuatro. I hadn’t thought about it. Ever.
‘Cause, you know why … don’t you?
I was less than a third of my present age when that song came out. Fun song. Everyone knew the words. (Everyone knew all the words to all the Beatle’s songs.)
And so, I didn’t think about it, no-one did. Sixty-four was, well, so impossibly far into the future, that’s why.
In the introductory essay to the infamous essays on my “senior citizen hobby” (The Hockey Diaries) I wrote
Time passes, it crawls, it creeps, you wake up one day and it’s no longer the 1990’s. And remember when we were all, lemming-like, pressed up against the cliff-edge of the unknown of the impending Y2K? WHOOSH! THAT was 13 years ago, mes amis.
After the next-to-last game of the local too-short ice-hockey season, I was bantering with the other sexagenarian in the league. We were complaining about and comparing senior-citizen aches and pains and I drew the “I am older” card.
“Were you born in the 1940’s?!” I demanded to know of Kerry, who I knew appeared on this planet in early 1950. (Okay, I appeared barely before 1950, but, heck, let’s use THAT to my occasional advantage).
Several heads in the locker room abruptly turned our way. I could tell that these other guys were surprized. Some of them may have been as old as 40-something, but the thought of someone actually from “the 1940’s” must have seemed, well, something from a history book. Yeah, all of us played hockey a couple times a week together, and they may have briefly considered the gray hair and wrinkles, but THAT STOPPED once the ref dropped the puck.