I called my dad this afternoon to wish him a Happy 75th Birthday.
Since he's in Sydney, Australia, it was morning for him and he was delighted to tell me -- an avid exerciser -- that he'd just gotten back from the gym.
Yep, my father, who ran a busy medical practice and supported a family of eight, who rarely had time to scratch himself and never did much more than a weekly game of golf (well, he was a doctor) and an annual splash in his beloved Sydney surf, pumps iron and runs on a treadmill.
Who would have thunk it? He even got a personal trainer, no less, when he hit his 60s, retired, and all kinds of unfun health problems came to call.
Dad sounded especially sprightly over the phone line, like a little boy really, keenly anticipating his big birthday bash this coming weekend. I was reminded of my son, eagerly awaiting his own celebration on Saturday -- double digits! How did that happen... Read more


