Drunken Wisdom

Intoxicating Gibberish From the Guy at the End of the Bar

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May 16th, 2010 · 5 Comments

My sister just turned 40 yesterday. I got to talk to her for quite a while, and came away from that phone call chuckling.

40 has always seemed a big deal to me. When I was home last fall, my brother and I were talking, and I found that he had many of the same thoughts as I did. And, after talking with her yesterday, my sister, too.

My pa was killed when he was 40. Somewhere, somehow, my brother and I came to believe that when we hit forty, we were dead. Not in a fatalist’s way… just a matter-of-factly way.

Forty, no where near old. Just dead. Where the hell does a body come up with this stuff?

Tags: A Bit Of Me

5 responses so far ↓

  • 1 zonker // May 16, 2010 at 9:09 pm

    57 is the magic number for me. Just shy of 18 more years…

  • 2 Richard // May 17, 2010 at 6:51 am

    I’m hoping now for at least 60 :)

    My dad and his brother are the first two men on their side to live past 50 so I guess there’s hope. My grandpa keeled over from a heart attack in ’71.

  • 3 lil sis // May 17, 2010 at 5:53 pm

    Just letting you all know, I made it okay. Still alive and well…. :)

  • 4 Bou // May 22, 2010 at 7:09 pm

    I think that is a common sentiment. I know my Mom had these thoughts as she approached her father’s age when he died.

  • 5 Richmond // May 24, 2010 at 3:31 pm

    I am looking forward to 40 :) Might as well… It’s inevitable, right?

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