Between today and United Nations Day, in October, I’m only two years older than F.G., not three. It’s only 7AM and he’s already out on the golf course, playing eighteen holes in honor of the day. I don’t get golf but he loves it and when he plays, he walks and carries no matter how high falutin or long the course. When he fishes, he catches and releases, removing each fine barbed fly gently and carefully, talking the fish through the process as he goes.
In short, FG lives his life with integrity and care. He engages in great acts of charity privately and quietly. He is so optimistic I have to fight for my right to be grumpy and his faith is so strong it’s an inspiration to us all. He also brings, hands down, more energy and life to the table than anybody I know. He wasn’t here for six months before we had a trampoline, a foosball table, a play station dance game, a pedal boat and a kayak.
He grew up as the youngest brother of four born in four years in a household run primarily by his father, a strict Lutheran and Army retired Lt. Colonel. FG is fairly clueless about how women, especially of a certain age, think and feel but he’s more than eager to learn. Is he a quick study? It’s taken him less than a year to stop making jokes about menopause. Best of all he loves people, mostly me, precisely as we are even on those rare occasions when
we’re not all he wishes or wants or expects.
This past year he’s started making jokes that indicate he’s thinking about being over 50. Because I’m a tad older I have little patience for "middle-age" humor but the other day Hoss put up this helpful place . Darling, check it out and you can find out how long you’ve lived, down to the minute, and how long you’re likely to keep going. Then cheer up because I’ve made another batch of molasses cookies and the girls and I are taking you out to dinner. We love you so much and wish you a Happy Birthday!