On having been alive for three-quarters of a century

On Friday I will be 75 years old.

Mainly, I can't believe it.

There's simply very little else to say. But I will give it the old college try.

How did old age get here so fast? Wasn't I 33 just the other day? And why do I still feel 20 on the inside but look so decrepit on the outside? No explanation is possible.

My dad, who was born in 1906 and died in 1967, used to marvel that in his lifetime humans had gone from traveling on horseback to traveling on rocket ships. Changes during my lifetime have been no less remarkable.

When I was a boy I played with a Slinky and a ViewMaster Steroscope and a Radio Flyer wagon and a rubber ball attached by an elastic band to a wooden paddle. I even played with pots and pans and cardboard boxes and egg cartons and a fruitcake tin filled with buttons. Today's kids, God bless them, have to be entertained constantly with Xboxes and Wiis and Play Station 4s and iPhone6s with Instagram and Twitter and who knows what else. I shudder to think.

It's a different world.

I remember the days before television. I remember when there were no computers. I remember having a single phone for the entire family and it was connected to the wall by a cord. It didn't have pushbuttons or even a dial. It had a crank that you turned to get the operator's attention and then you told the operator what number you wanted to reach and that number had four digits. I remember having no hot and cold running water or an indoor toilet or sink or bathtub. I remember pulling on a rope to haul the drinking water out of the well in a bucket. Later on, I remember when there were only three television channels and the set was a 12-inch Philco and it carried programming from 2 p.m. until 10 p.m. only. The rest of the time there was only a test pattern. I remember 45 rpm vinyl records.

I remember hula hoops.

I remember feeding chickens. I remember riding a horse. I remember picking blackberries. What today's kids will remember, in the cities at least, are drive-by shootings and drug deals and gang wars.

I remember when a man's word was his bond and a handshake was as good as a promise.

I remember when gasoline (petrol to you Brits) cost 19 cents per gallon. I remember the first year my dad earned over $5,000 and he did it by working six days a week and a lot of overtime. I remember that my first month's salary with IBM in 1965 was $650 before taxes, a veritable fortune at the time.

What I remember are days that, unless there are atomic wars or a series of natural disasters that reduce everything to rubble, will never be seen again.

I wish I could be around to hear what today's kids will remember when they are 75.