Birthdays are meaningless. They are merely a method for noting the passage of time. If we were living on another planet, our years would be longer or shorter depending upon the speed of axis rotation and the length of our solar orbit. So, there’s nothing magical about surviving another year…unless one happened to live on that former planet called Pluto. There I might be celebrating my fifth or sixth birthday…hmmm. So, birthdays are meaningless and represent mere accidents of time and place. Here on earth I celebrated my 65th year of mortal existence. Here in the United States I became a semi-official ward of the state. Here in my own mind it doesn’t matter.
Fortunately I’ve never had that traumatic birthday that propels one’s life into a tailspin. Thirty, forty, fifty and sixty slid by without much notice or concern. But 65 is a little different. Thanks to my government and its bloated self-importance, I know must consider Medicare, Social Security, death panels, sustainability, inter-generational transfers and senior citizen discounts. I’ll have to start carrying a coin purse and delaying the lines at check-out counters. I’ll begin driving 35 miles per hour in the left lane with my turn signal in constant-flash mode.
When the Social Security scam was developed in the mid ‘30’s, the retirement age was set at 65 because very few of us made it to that exalted age. Even then your (our) government was looking for ways to hammer us. Today those of us who make it this far can expect another 15-20 years of productive life which has totally driven many actuarial experts to enter 12-step programs. Bummer for them, problems for the government and the people who pay the taxes, but bully for us energetic golden-agers who refuse to sit down and waste away. It thrills me to see my peers enjoying life and contributing to our communities, states and nation. It saddens me when our geezer class clutches to their government programs with a death grip and sense of lifetime entitlement. It radically ticks me off when career politicians and bureaucrats pander to the oldsters by promising more of the same distribution of goodies. It won’t happen. It cannot continue. Face the music and begin dancing, fellow golden-agers.
In preceding generations it was assumed that one would work until death intervened. Today, however, because of government and political lies, we believe that we are entitled to twenty years or more of taxpayer-subsidized leisure. Even the government has recognized the folly of its promises, and thus, we have the “death panels” or quality of life panels embedded in legislation for the express purpose of culling the herd. Due to our expanded longevity the pressure on the system has become too great to continue. As a husband, father and grandfather who desires to spend many years with my loved ones and helping my grandchildren to appreciate the value of individual liberty, I refuse to accept the societal and governmental descriptions of who I am. I am me. Perhaps in some respects similar to other 65 year olds, but uniquely me in most ways. Government will not define me. Government cannot confine me. After all, birthdays are meaningless. No column tomorrow because of pressing obligations: sleeping, sunning and socializing.
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