by Tom Purcell

Boy, are Americans getting old.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the median age – the age at which half of the population is older and half is younger – hit an all-time high of 38.0 in 2017.

Why is it rising? Because our massive baby-boom generation continues to go, geezer, while young moms and dads are having way fewer kids than American parents used to.

What’s more interesting is that the number of Americans who were 100 years or older also hit a record in 2017 – a number that is poised to explode.

According to the World Future Society, we are in the early phases of a super longevity revolution. Thanks to advances in nanotechnology and cell and gene manipulation, scientists may eventually learn how to keep humans alive for 120 to 500 years.

Though it’s great that Americans are living longer, I’m not sure I’d ever want to live THAT long.

Look, I’m 56, a tail-end baby boomer. If I was confident I’d be vibrant and healthy for another 44 years, I might finally get around to marrying and starting a family!

My parents are of the silent generation. They’re in their 80s. I’d love for them to live well beyond 100 so that I can enjoy their company at Sunday dinners for another 20 years or more.

But there are downsides to living so long.

Health-care costs are already out of control and the majority of that spending goes to the elderly. Such costs may become unmanageable as our median age keeps climbing.

If we live 100 years or more, how are we going to pay for it? The living is expensive. Are we going to work 50 years, retire, burn through our nest eggs, then spend 20 or 30 years greeting customers at Walmart?

And what of our younger generations, kids who are notorious slackers? Mother to son in the year 2075:

“You’re 100 years old! When are you going to move out and get a job?”

Four years shy of 60, I’m already showing signs of fatigue. I don’t know when it started, but, like my elderly father, I groan every time I slowly pull myself out of a chair.

Sure, the “primitive male” part of me thinks I could still handle myself if a bar brawl were to break out – but I’d have to do 30 minutes of jumping jacks before I could even think about participating.

Besides, in my experience, life is largely made up of colds, bills, speeding tickets and people who let you down. These experiences are connected together by a series of mundane tasks. The drudgeries are occasionally interrupted by a wonderful meal, a really good laugh or a romantic evening with a lovely lady.

Then the mundane stuff starts all over again.

I don’t think I want 500 years of that.

At 56, you see, it seems to me that the key to human happiness is not an abundance of a thing, but a lack of it.

Doesn’t pie taste better when we know it’s the last slice? Doesn’t a football game capture our attention more when it’s the last of the season – the one that determines who goes out the winner and who goes out the loser? Isn’t a comedian funnier when he exits the stage BEFORE we want him to go?

Besides, if I were to live to 500, I’d have to endure 111 more presidential elections – a punishment I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy!

The Indiana Office of tourism released an article saying that the two ballparks in southern Indiana should be seen by all baseball fans.

Both ballparks were noted for being featured in the film “A League of Their Own.” The article mentions Bosse Field’s history as the 3rd oldest ballpark in the country that’s still operational. League Stadium is noted for hosting hall of Famer Satchel Paige in the 1960’s.

Other parks included in the list are Victory Field, Four Winds Field, Parkview Field, U.S. Steel Yard, and Kokomo Municipal Stadium.

Click here to view the full article published by VisitIndiana.com.

GAVEL GAMUT By Jim Redwine

KEEPING THE FLAME

My mother’s three brothers and one of her three sisters served in the army in WWII. Uncle Buck flew close order air support of ground combat soldiers, one of whom could have been Uncle Bill. Uncle Bud never saw a shot fired in anger but went where he was told. Aunt Betty was an army nurse.

My two brothers and I served in the military during the Viet Nam War as did my sister Jane’s husband, Bruce. Bruce was stationed in North Carolina and was not sent to Viet Nam. My eldest brother, C.E., is a fine musician and the army decided it needed his saxophone for the U.S. Army Field Band more than they needed his rifle.

My other brother, Phil, is an excellent attorney whom the army ordered into the Judge Advocate Corps as they thought his legal advice was more important to the war effort than his fighting. And for reasons known only to the U.S. Air Force my country determined my supposed linguistic skills were more vital for gathering Intelligence than was my body for cannon fodder.

One of my numerous first cousins, Billy Mike, survived a year in combat in Viet Nam and my son, Jim, earned a Combat Infantryman’s Badge in the Gulf War of 1990-91 and another in the Iraq War in 2006. He also earned a Bronze Medal for service in each war. My son, my cousin and two of my uncles dodged enemy fire while my other uncle, my aunt, my brother-in-law, my brothers and I simply went where we were sent. 

Twenty-nine of our presidents served in the military before becoming Commander-in-Chief. Some saw combat, some did not. At least two of our recent presidents actively avoided serving themselves but later, as President, sent others into combat. Abraham Lincoln always dreamed of military action and regretted only serving about one month of non-combat service during the Black Hawk War (May 1832–August 1832). Ironically, he later served as our top non-combat “soldier” during our deadliest war.

These differing military/non-military, combat/non-combat circumstances were brought sharply into focus for me last week when some of my siblings (C.E. and his wife Shirley plus my sister Jane along with my wife Peg) and some of my first cousins (Susie, Barbara Joan, Billy Mike and his wife Annette along with their son Ryan) got together in Canada for our first full-blown reunion since the Viet Nam War. The hair may now have a lighter hue but absolutely nothing important inside has changed since we threw firecrackers and climbed on the huge sandstone rocks at Osage Hills State Park in Osage County, Oklahoma over half a century ago.

We each almost instantly realized what a debt we owed to our parents and grandparents for all the times they brought us together at Christmas, the Fourth of July, Labor Day, Thanksgiving, weddings, and funerals. The bonds formed in an enchanted childhood not only helped us through these many intervening years although separated by time and space, we found they remain unbreakable even today. 

And the strongest bonds were formed by loving relatives who supported those who were strong enough and wise enough to address with action the futility of wars fought for reasons other than national defense or humanitarian necessity.

So, thank you to our ancestors who taught us the value of loving one’s country and one’s family and to those who are keeping the flame burning brightly in spite of time and distance.

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