Age Is Not Just a Number

     Having reached the milestone of a 60th birthday, I've heard my share of "age is just a number" and "age doesn't matter" euphemisms.  And I beg to differ.
     I spent last evening at my sister's house, entertained by her new grandkids, two month old Zoe and three month old James. At one point someone laid them, side-by-side, on a blanket on the floor for a photo op, and it was immediately clear that those little babies weren't the same age.  They were both adorable, with their wild kicking and occasional smiles. But James had a real heft behind his kicks, making resounding thumps that overpowered the clicks of the camera.  Zoe, with a month's less milk intake, had a much daintier kick, making nary a sound as her little feet hit the floor.  Whether defined by weight, girth, head circumference, or activity level, the difference a month makes was obvious.
     And I'm pretty sure that if my own six month old grandson had been available to lay down on the blanket, the difference of another 3 months would have been obvious too.   Mainly because he would have crawled right off of that blanket in a straight line towards the nearest remote control.
     Jump ahead some several hundreds of months and lay me down on that same blanket next to a 40 year old and a 50 year old, and there would be differences there too.  No longer defined by such milestones as babbling, blowing bubbles, or rolling over (which might make for an interesting test), it would be no less clear that age is more than just a number.
     It is the accumulation of skills and breakthroughs.  Accomplishments and disappointments.  Memories and regrets.  But also, gray hair and liver spots. Wrinkles and wisdom--although the fact that I'm letting someone lay me on the floor at the age of 60 might tend to contradict that last one.
     No one ever tries to stop the natural progression of  milestones in the early years, where each new change is cause for celebration.  And although we may want to, and even try to, we can't stop the milestones in the later years either.  We can work at keeping ourselves alert and healthy, but we can't keep ourselves young. And we can't stop the changes that the months and years bring.  We can only meet them head on with the same determination shown by the two month old Zoe as she valiantly tried to roll over.  It may not be as much fun watching the evolution of our own bodies as it is our grandkids', but it's no less real.
     I vividly remember being young, but I am not, and never will be, 60 years young.  Age matters.  As a 40 year old, I probably could have jumped right up from that blanket.  As a 50 year old, I'm pretty sure I could have gotten up unaided. But as a sixty year old, I'm likely to be apologizing for falling to sleep, and then asking how I got down there.
     And I'd sure appreciate a hand in getting up.  But get up I will.  Because I need to find that six month old.  He's got my remote control.