Not exactly sure when I recognized that I was old.
It’s gradual, I suppose – the reality tied to concessions made to everyday life.
No longer bounding up the steps two at a time.
Driving out of the way to avoid making a left turn at a stop sign at a busy intersection.
Paying someone to help me rake the autumn leaves.
But the harshest way to discover that you are old is when your peers pass on.
Two months ago, a cousin died from cancer.
Last week, a high school classmate succumbed to a series of strokes.
These were good people, something you don’t know about in great detail until you read their obituaries.
People of faith and family. Generous. Humble. Outgoing. Story tellers. Youth coaches. Volunteers committed to community service. Successful in business. Successful in life.
And friends. Really good friends.
And fathers and grandfathers. Really good fathers and grandfathers.
In my office is a sign that says:
"Think deeply. Speak gently. Love much. Laugh a lot. Work hard. Give freely. And be kind."
Seven pieces of noble advice. It would be a better world if all of us followed at least some of them, as my cousin and classmate surely did.