On a flight not long ago, I sat next to a mom with a young son, a little seat-kicker named Bobby. It was clear that I was not going to get much work done, so I introduced myself to both of them, and she prodded the little tow-head to greet me. Which he did: "Gee, mister, you're old!"
Yes, I thought, and if you keep talking to people this way, you're not going to have that problem.
A few months after that, I was with a group of my old college buddies. We get together for a long weekend every year. Most of us are pastors so it's also a chance to talk shop and swap dreams and hurts. Each year we try to have one unusual experience, and that year we all took surfing lessons at Cowell's Beach in Santa Cruz. I still think of us as just a few years out of college, adults in the prime of manhood still mastering our crafts. But I got another glimpse of reality when one surfing instructor muttered under his breath to the other one: "I guess it's AARP day at ...
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