From wars to Watergate, reflecting on a life of three-quarters of a century

In three-quarters of a century, a person lives through many experiences. As I turn 75 this month, I realize just how many and how varied my experiences have been.

I’m old enough to remember Harry Truman as president. I was alive before rock and roll. I lived in a home when the family was entertained not by television but radio. Computers and cell phones, when I was young, were science fiction.

I’ve lived through President Eisenhower’s inauguration, a polio scare and then a vaccine, President Kennedy’s assassination (on my birthday), the Vietnam War, hippies, a man landing on the moon, Watergate, President Reagan, the end of the Soviet empire, the boom in dot.com, a foreign attack on the World Trade Center, a recession, the first American black president and the presidency of one of the most unusual national leaders in U.S. history.

Man, I’m old.

At age 75 I’m reflecting on my mortality. I’m much closer to my death than to my birth. I realize that many friends of mine who were born after I was have died. I sometimes wonder how and why I’m still alive.

I attribute my longevity, such as it is, mainly to luck or, as some would say, providence. I didn’t do any more or less than my deceased friends did.

At my age I’m also aware of the statistical odds of further longevity. The average life expectancy for men in the United States, according to a U.S. Census Bureau February 2020 report, is 77.3 years. (If I were an American woman, it would be 82.)

My odds for good health after age 75, moreover, are not in my favor. As I wrote in a column five years ago, a researcher named Ezekiel Emmanuel noted in 2014 that a large percentage of people who live past 75 have significant health issues.

So I’m looking at an impending decline in health (possibly) and eventual death (for sure). The odds, however, don’t predict all individual cases. I’ve had friends, including a man and a woman in Los Banos I knew well, who lived to be 99. One of my friends is a centenarian, and she is still physically nimble and mentally sharp.

As I look ahead, I’ve adopted a prayer from Henri Nouwen, who wrote at age 64, “Lord, I do not know where you will lead me. I do not know where I will be two, five or ten years from now.

“I do not know the road ahead of me,” he continued, “but I know that you are with me to guide me and that, wherever you lead me, even where I would rather not go, you will bring me close to my true home.”

As it turns out, Nouwen died unexpectedly of a heart attack four months after he wrote this prayer. His 92-year-old father outlived him. Henri understood that no one knows exactly when he or she will die. He reminds me to be ready for death and beyond (what Henri called his true home).

I’m fortunate to be in good health. In the years ahead I won’t be going out of my way to have a severely restrictive diet or an excessive workout regimen just to live longer. However, I will continue to take reasonably good care of myself, which includes a focus on sound nutrition, daily exercise and plenty of sleep.

When I consider the years ahead, I think about the future of my children, grandchildren and great-grandchild more than my own. They will face experiences I can’t even dream of— good and bad.

I worry, for example, about climate change and the effect it will have on younger generations. I worry about the jobs of the future, and whether they’ll be enough of them to support all families with a decent salary.

I wonder if we as a country will ever be able to come together and unite, as our founding fathers had hoped when they chose the motto of “E pluribus unum.”

I’m hoping that younger generations will constantly seek the truth, not necessarily find it (because truth is elusive).

The feeling that’s the strongest in me as I turn 75 is gratitude. I feel grateful for so many good things that have happened to me and so many good people in my life, not because I planned it, but because they just happened.

At age 19, I didn’t plan on meeting a young lady named Susan, but by pure chance I did, and I was fortunate she agreed to marry me four years later. I didn’t plan on entering the military, but the draft nudged me to enlist. At age 24 I didn’t plan on coming to California, but the Air Force sent me here.

I didn’t plan on living in Los Banos, but a teaching job at a new college campus opened as I was leaving the Air Force, so I applied, was selected and stayed.

I didn’t plan on becoming a columnist for the Enterprise in 1983, but the publisher at that time asked me, and so I did.

I didn’t plan on becoming a college administrator in Merced, but in 1992 I was asked to, and I stayed for 16 years. I didn’t plan on marrying again when I was a widower, but I did, and I’m wondrously grateful.

Having lived three-quarters of a century, gratitude is the feeling I embrace the most — gratitude for all the many graces and blessings I’ve been given.