I’m Sixty, but I don’t know it…

I have my own bike.

And let me tell you, it’s a lime-green Cannondale beauty, all professionally measured to the “apex of my anatomy” (OK, then), and nicely serviced and maintained by the mature me…

Its gears, gadgets and gauges have taken me on grand adventures, including a Bucket List Half Ironman three years ago at age 57.  It was the ride of my grown-up life.

But a lot has happened since I was 57.  Like turning 60.  Like having grandkids with awesome stuff, like new awesome bikes and totally rad mohawk bike helmets.

Like stuff you can’t keep your hands off when you’re 60 and you don’t know it.  Like yesterday, as the early evening sun of a lovely New England Spring day cast L-O-N-G shadows of delight, just like when I was a kid.  Shadows are funny like that, reminding you of all those early evenings so, so long ago when homework could wait and dinner could wait and the universe could wait because there was playing to be done and fun to be had and sounds to embrace and laughter to laugh.

Like yesterday.

Yes, yesterday was one of those magical days turning to nighttime and there was too much fun to be had to remember how old I am; so I was lucky enough to take a wild spin on my grandson William’s brand new bike, wearing his brand new helmet…

And being mesmerized by 4 of my grandsons (brothers!) as they played like I did and had fun like I did and laughed like I did and cast L-O-N-G shadows like I did, so many, many decades ago…

Ah. Playing, like one of the kids.

You know what the best part of being 60 is?

NOT KNOWING IT!