the icy grip of death

I came to a startling realization the other day. My dad's pushing 60! I can't believe it. It came as quite a shock to me to realize that my dad is 59. I know you're saying, "But Margie, he's your dad, don't you keep up with how old he is?" The answer is. . .no. I knew he was in his fifties, but I can barely keep track of my own age, let alone other people's age, fer pete's sake. So the other day it came up in conversation (with my BFF, who's also my brother and who ALSO didn't know my dad's age, so there) and we said, ok, dad was born in 1947 and the year is currently 2006 and he's already had a birthday this year, so some quick calculations. . .carry the one. . .is that right? More calculations. . .um. . .holy crap! Is dad really 59?!? That is something how the conversation went. It's weird. Dad doesn't seem 59. His hair is hardly grey. (In actuality the temples are a nice silver, very distinguished.) He doesn't seem wrinkly or all that grandpa-ish. This situation is totally blowing my mind. Mom on the other hand is 55 (soon to be 56) and that seems perfectly reasonable, probably because she's in a wheelchair. Gimps always seem older, ya know? Plus 55 is NOWHERE near 60. It's like lightyears from 60. 59 on the other hand is like having one foot in the grave! 60 is retirement age! It's very very strange how this happened without me noticing. I'm totally buggin.