THE BIG 80!

Today, my father is officially the age I remember my great-grandfather being when I wrote him off as being dead. He had no teeth, and his face looked like a dried persimmon. His wife had a cropped grey perm, wore synthetic fibered bellbottoms, and would shake uncontrollably when she had to walk to the front door.

My dad looks like he’s sixty. He has a young wife, works out four hours a day, drives a sports car, and wears Rag and Bone jeans. IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!

I don’t know if people age better these days or simply that people used to give up too soon. But my dad is nowhere near the point where I’d feel comfortable sticking a fork in him.

This weekend we threw him a surprise party planned by my step-mom Paige and my good friend, Sara Farmer.

While my dad’s birthday is the third, my sister and I convinced him that we would be coming to town February 8th to celebrate. We then instructed a neighbor to invite him to a black-tie event for February first. At first my dad was wary about attending, so we lied and told him that the surgeon general was going to be there and wanted to meet him.