The honest truth, which makes a lot more sense than anything else I've said so far, is that for the first time in ten years, my age will be completely devoid of any fives. Why? Because on August 1, 2019, at 10:10am, exactly sixty years will have passed since Mom had her Ericectomy™ in the delivery room at North Hollywood Maternity Hospital. I did make an early arrival—I wasn't supposed to premiere until August 12, which would have been a birthday present for my mom. "Happy birthday, Pauline! Look what came for you today!" Upon receiving such a hysterical gift on her 23st birthday and having finished crying, she'd have taken a few letters off of the word "hysterical" and named it simply, "Eric." She still did that, only she got to do so eleven days earlier than planned. See? Eric got his antics started with an eleven-day head start. So now you all know what happened. And, as a bonus, there's still time to run...
Every year since my appearance on Planet Earth (my planet was still under construction at the time), people gathered around a cake with candles lit, each representing one year of life after that fateful trip through the tunnel. Sometimes they brought gifts, sometimes not. Along the way, I learned that others became fond of the gifts I received and took it upon themselves to use them. Not always with my permission, though, and all too often with less than careful handling and usage, which often resulted in lost or broken things, neither of which were repaired or replaced. After much frustration, over time it became easier to not ask for stuff in the first place. It's OK. I don't need hordes of stuff anyway. At times it was the same with Christmas loot. Broken. Lost. Left at a friend's house. Not having those things in the first place made my life easier. All of these years later, I'm happy without gifts. What I treasure most of all is time with friends and family members who respect me. So now that you know the secret, you get ice cream.
Since I've almost reached that magical age of 60, what am I going to do next? TV ads often say to go to Disney World. But I've already been there twice. By the next time I go—if I ever do go again—they'll have plenty of new stuff for me to see since my last visit was in 2006. We have Walt's original park right here in Southern California anyway. In some ways, I kinda like it better. In fact, I even got to visit Disneyland on my 50th birthday for free because Disney was running a promotion where if you registered, you got a free day in the park on your birthday. For your unconvenience, here is a picture taken of me on my 50th birthday at Disneyland. I was holding a bottle of my favorite Coketail. (My friend Albert Lam was also there and kind enough to take it.)
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| Hiding from Sleeping Beauty's Castle and celebrating 50 years on Earth at Disneyland on August 1, 2009. (Albert Lam photo) |
Hard to believe that was ten years ago. Time flies when you're having fun.
Most people seem to have trouble accepting the fact that they're getting older. Me? I couldn't care less. My feeling is that I can still function—more or less—and get around without any help. Some say that 60 is the new 30. In some ways, I agree, although a lot of people my age are beginning to have limitations. Being asthmatic and diabetic (yes, both), puts a bit of a damper on things sometimes, but I keep on going. However, if things ever get to the point to where Diana has to get me up and dressed, feed and bathe me, or address other needs in the bathroom (use your imagination), then maybe it'll be time to call it a life and move on to the next phase of my existence.
I've said in previous posts that my doctor says I'm taking care of myself well enough to live to the age of 120. If that is indeed the case, then I'm only about halfway through this journey called "life." I don't expect things to magically get better as time goes on, but, as I said earlier, you never know.
I should trademark that phrase before someone else does.
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