I turned 50 years old on the last day of the year. When I was a kid, 50 was a foreign, alien thing. In my kid mind, there were two groups of people: kids, and old people. Those who were in school with me were kids, and those who weren't in school with me were old people. It never occurred to my little, inexperienced child mind that I would one day be looking through the other side of the mirror, again dividing people into two groups: those who at some point regularly used rotary telephones and can sing the first verse from the "Facts of Life" theme song, and Young People.

Eventually, the kid mind matures, and begins to realize that those Old People, the slow, paunchy, gray-haired, somewhat bemused people shuffling through the supermarket looking for something with extra fiber used to be Young People, and that inevitably, the kid understands that he's looking at the future. And that realization can be downright scary. You go from playing tag and complaining about homework to playing phone-tag and complaining about work. Your bedtime, which used to be ten o'clock sharp, is now nine o'clock, unless you get an early start in the recliner.

Realizing that the world is always changing, and the slow millwheel of time is in constant, inexorable motion can be a traumatic experience. Maybe that's why Young People stay out all night dancing and drinking. The low, constant thump of the bass and the press of bodies at the club pushes away thoughts of Social Security and knee replacements and colonoscopies. While you're dancing, you can forget for a little while that we're only here for a moment and pretend that the bass and the lights and the electric, pulse-pounding atmosphere are forever. When you're cruising the strip, the road seems to go on forever, taillights melting into that eternal center line, vanishing into the distance.

I don't know what I was so afraid of. Fifty isn't a time for mourning. It's a gift.

I'm 50 years old, and what I have now I wouldn't give up for anything in the world. We talk about spending time, but in spending it, I've actually gained more than I have lost. I have earned every scar and every wrinkle on my body. I made mistakes, learned from them, and gained a little wisdom. Reaching 50 means I have 50 years of memories, stories, and history. I know where I've come from, where I am, and where I would like to go.

I have a beautiful, brilliant wife and two wonderful children. I have the privilege of guiding my kids through the maze of youth, and watching them grow into kind, capable, productive members of society. I have the honor of serving Grant County in my role at the Chamber of Commerce, doing what I can to help make this county a great place to live and work. If this is what it means to be an Old Person, it's a gift I gratefully accept.

Fifty? Yeah. I'll take it.