50

My dad turns 50 today. He's taking it very well so far. I'm not trying to imply that he shouldn't, it just traditionally seems to be one of those crises-inducing events in one's life. At least, for those who are lucky enough to make it that far along. Many of us don't. Fifty years may be quite a long time, but it is not the "ancient" age it once was. It is not even close. Still, I find it interesting that I too am feeling the pressure of time's ever-hastening shove.

This picture was taken [with my best guess] during Christmas of 1984. I came across it this morning and decided to share it. The really interesting thing about it is the fact that may father, in this pic, would be about the same age I am today, as I write this. And I remember. I remember being there. I remember how old he seemed when he turned thirty... an age I myself am only a few short years away from. Where does the time go? And why does it go so quickly?

I imagine somewhere out there, there is a mountain of lost time. Time that has escaped us or merely wandered off. As elusive as it can be, it always leaves us in a flash never to return. The most we can do is try to remember it while we can. This mountain of time must be out there, waiting. Perhaps that is the idea of Heaven. A place where we finally have all the time we want... to do the things we never got around to in the previous life.