I’ve wondered for years if I would see this day. I think of it as one of those “State Line” moments. Pretend for a moment you are traveling down one of your favorite interstate highways and you begin to see those mile markers on the side of the road fly by. After a few miles you get so used to seeing them that you pay them no mind. Your attention is focused on getting to your destination – like the next state line.

Getting older is similar to that. I suppose my first state line moment was when I turned thirteen. I had anticipated getting to that day and becoming a teenager. It was a big deal for me. It was a rite of passage. Also, it was about that time puberty kicked in. I had hair on my legs and arms. I grew fuzz on my face, and I got my first razor. Hormones began to kick in and I noticed a few girls in my class were taking on a different shape. That was one of the few times I embraced change. I thought to myself, “Change is good.”

Five years later I had another one of those state line moments. At eighteen I was old enough to vote, and I registered for the draft. The draft was an even bigger deal. I was scared. Vietnam was in the news every day and I imagined being called up and sent half-way around the world. I figured Walter Cronkite would mention me as another statistic on the nightly news. I went a little wild - a little crazy because I figured I’d never live to see twenty one. But I did.

I was thrilled to hit another state line moment when I turned twenty one. I was old enough to adult things. I drove ninety miles Jackson, Mississippi, walked into a package liquor store, ordered a fifth of sloe gin and with a smirk I waited to be carded. The guy behind the counter didn’t card me. The thrill was gone and that was the last bottle of gin I ever bought. Shortly thereafter I began to get my wits about me and grow a tiny semblance of a brain. I met a girl, fell in love, made a profession of faith and life began to happen.

The next thing I knew I was forty and at another state line. I had a mortgage, a car payment, a wife and three daughters. Those little mile markers on the side of the interstate began to look like a blur. They were flying by way too fast. Wasn’t it just yesterday I turned thirteen and had fuzz on my face?

At fifty I began to see a few white hairs appear in my mustache. Another state line moment. The hair on my head was tired of holding on and began to let go. I learned to become creative with a comb. Those Ron Popeil ads hawking hair in a spray can began to catch my eye. – Mind you, it wasn’t hair spray. It was spray that made thinning hair look thicker. I considered it, but decided I really didn’t want to spray paint my scalp. I longed for those days when I gotten a bad haircut at Aubrey Sullivan’s barbershop and he’d say, “Don’t worry, boy, it’ll grow back.” I had reached the stage of life where nothing was going to come back. Ever. I now own a lot of caps.

Before I knew it those mile markers had zipped by again. Sixty. Sixty! At sixty I was older than my father, grandfather and great grandfather. They had never seen their sixth decade. I began to think of my mortality. I didn’t fear dying, but I didn’t want to burden my daughters with all the details, so I purchased plots in Oak Grove Cemetery. I figured if it was good enough for Irvin Cobb and a mule it would be good enough for my wife and me. There were no plots available near the mule so I settled for acreage down the hill between the lanes of Hope and Peace – just east of Willow. Next, I bought a nice headstone that I designed. On the north side I had engraved a quill and inkwell, our names and birthdates. All that has to be done is engrave the end dates. On the backside in large letters is engraved “ALGOOD”. I’ve instructed my daughters that when my time comes, they should have the engraver add below the surname inscription, “things must come to an end.”

Lastly, the Beatles released “When I’m Sixty Four” back in ’67, and I often wondered if I’d be around to hear it again when I actually turned sixty four. Well, I’m glad to report that I have arrived at that state line marker today. After listening to Beatles classic on YouTube again today I realized most of the lyrics still fit. Most; not all. I’ve retired and I’m home every night, so I won’t be staying out till a quarter of three, so she won’t be locking me out nowadays. Will she still need me, will she still feed me? She still feeds me, but I wonder from time to time if she really needs me. She more independent now than she was at seventeen when I married her. Will she still love me when I’m losing my hair? She’s still here, so I’ll count that as a yes. I’ve never seen her knit a sweater by the fireside, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon. We are no longer scrimping and saving for our old age. Nope; It’s too late for that now. New floors and countertops have been ordered to the tune of more than I earned the first year we got married.

However, we do have grandchildren on our knees and love it. And as far as I’m concerned she is still mine forever more – even at sixty four. I see no need in joining Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band at this point in my life.

The next state line marker? Well, I’ll just have to wait and see where life leads me. Meanwhile, I hope to watch those little mile markers slip past me one-by-one for a while longer.

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Rick Algood
June 7, 2016