Physically we grow old. Period. Think about that for a minute.

Okay. You’re minute is up.

What else did you think about when you were contemplating that statement above? Perhaps you thought I may be growing physically old, but mentally I’m still quite capable of committing teenage acts of craziness.

I’m to be sixty-five years old next month. Don’t let me ever hear you say I’m sixty-five years young. That’s BS, plain and simple. I’m 65 years OLD physically and this old body ain’t what it used to be. My wife, Libby, has repeatedly told me that growing old sucks. Yes it does. The “Golden Years” to me only means I might need Depends.

But I don’t intend to go down without enjoying the years she and I have left. We laugh, we cry, we do things together and we talk about everything. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is hid from each other. She is the only person that I have told everything I have done that is life-altering or eventful. Libby is the one person with whom I have shared even my deepest, darkest secrets. I trust her.

With that said, we intend to grow old together. We share each other’s lives. When one is down the other is there to lift up the spirit. We pray for each other. That’s something that I admittedly didn’t do in my previous marriage. I won’t go into why I think that’s the case. It’s my statement of fact. It just did not happen.

Libby and I are mentally very much younger than we appear. We still hold hands everywhere we go. People have even complimented us or commented that people should still do that more often. To me, touch is an important function between two people. We kiss each other before we get out of the car. Don’t ask why, we just do. I have been known to pat her on the butt in Wal-Mart or any other public place if I feel like it. She gives me that big smile and says, did you just touch my butt? I’ll say yes, what are you going to do about it? Then she’ll smile real big. HA!  Sometimes we just stop and look each other in the eyes to see what’s inside.  The windows of the soul do say a lot.

In our heart and soul we’re still young. That’s what we are. That’s what we do. It’s us thumbing our nose at the grim reaper and pushing him off to the distant future.

One of my cousin’s husband posted a picture that so aptly applies to Libby and me. I had to pull that picture into my album. It makes me think of Libby and me. I’m thinking this is something we ought to do. I don’t care how old you are; maybe you ought to consider it. How young do you feel? How young at heart do you want to be?