Last year I wrote a rather scathing blog on why I avoid celebrating my #birthday, and the reason

is I'm just not into it. Period. To many, I may have come off as being an ungrateful bastard but

that's simply not true. While I am eternally thankful to have been granted 50 years

(that's over 18,000 days!) it just doesn't seem all that interesting to #celebrate

"me, me, me" and I don't plan on doing anything except working, Good Lord willing.

So isn't there anything I find in the least bit special or interesting about reaching

this milestone? Nope, not really.

Of course there is. For starters, there are tons of incredible memories of times, 

people, places and things to last me several lifetimes, and a book begs to be written

about it all. 

There is the thankfulness I feel to my Lord for allowing me to reach this plateau.  

I somehow feel more youthful now than I did at 25.

The kids are damn-near grown and I'm counting down to retirement.

Viagra hasn't been needed yet, thankfully.

Every material thing I've ever wanted I now own, and was probably attained at a time

when I was mature enough to handle it.

Being 50 has given me the courage to speak out freely and make some people my age and

older feel like idiots, because in many cases, they are.

My 50-year-old tolerance for bull****, lies and immaturity is at zero, which is why many 

folk can't understand why I cut them out of my life.

Being 50 has taught me that it's okay for a man to cry, regardless of where I am, who's

around or what caused it to happen in the first place.

 

Fifty's shown me that I'd enjoy being a grandfather more than first realized, despite 

the fact my eldest daughter getting pregnant wasn't the most pleasant news at the time.

I love her, my other two children and that rough-and-tumble little kid who calls me Pop-Pop

and whacks me upside the head unexpectedly, and surprisingly I can still keep up with him!

50 is not as scary as I once believed it would be. I welcome it with open arms especially since

some dearfriends never made it out of their teens, 20's or 30's. With all thanks to my God,

I can still see albeit with the aid of reading glasses, and can witness His glorious works during

every day He blesses me with. There are the usual assortment of aches and pains but nothing

outlandish. All in all, 50 feels great!

I can now handle situations I never dreamed possible (death, home invasions), while avoiding

some I never thought I would (elevators, planes, talkative people, etc.)

50 has slowed me down in some instances, but not all. It's now okay for me to not run for that

bus or train for fear of a slip-and-fall, and nine times out of ten, I'm only going to work, so

what's the big damn rush anyway, right?

50 has shown me that it's truly about the content of one's character and not the color of one's

skin. Fortunately, this was revealed to me in grade school and I never lost sight of it.

50 has shown me the importance of being in a stable, loving, trusting relationship in an era of

platonic sex and instant gratification. I never was a sex fiend even in my teens or 20's and

spent many a quiet night alone and happy as a MF. Sure, there were some hook-ups along the way

and while my body was happy, I wasn't. I wanted something more meaningful and long-term and

I pretty much held out for it. There were PYT's all around the 'hood flaunting their wares and

many of them looked damn good, but not the kind I'd take home to Mama.  

I have learned to make love to and gain gratification from witnessing a woman's pleasure rather

than my merely getting off then getting lost like many men do.

Fifty has shown that a woman with a knockout body looks nice but is highly irrelevant.

A Christian woman with intelligence and sense of humor regardless of her appearance is a

force to be reckoned with.

It no longer hurts when my Phillies and Eagles lose. In fact, I couldn't care less. It makes for great

conversation and Facebook banter, but life goes on after the stadium empties. Admittedly, a win does make

for a nicer work week but other than that, who cares?

I have learned to refrain from using new-age lingo, like "50 Is The New 30", because it isn't.

Fifty is fifty, yo. I hate to see old vacation videos of me in my thirties because I was clueless.

Went through life believing I was invincible and would live to the ripe old age of 473.

Straightened my hair back then and sported a pony tail that even some women envied. They'd touch it,

adore it and compliment me on it. I thought I was hot stuff but quickly learned long hair was more

trouble than it was worth, especially since my daughters used all the black ponytail holders and left

me with the greens, pinks and yellows. I'm proud to announce that the ponytail is gone forever.

Some things haven't changed in a half-century of life, though. I'm still addicted to things that light up.

I never learned to drive. I still avoid a certain shrub like the plague after being pushed into a patch

of them as a child (they stink like hell!) I still love to write. I love babies and game shows.

I prefer old-school video arcades over Xbox and Wii. I'm a loner by nature. Brace yourselves: 

I have never voted and no candidate has ever wooed me with their slick speeches, empty promises

or skin color to do so. And had Mom still been living, I'd still fear her vicious backhand!

Of course, being 50 numerically puts me that much closer to taking a "dirt nap" but even that's okay.

We all gotta go and there's no use in denying the inevitable, though there's no harm in fantasizing about

living to see 473 years.

Is there anything I haven't accomplished thus far? Yep. Haven't flown to Vegas and, in all likelihood, 

won't.

Haven't gotten my music out for the world to hear but hopefully that's rectified soon.

I haven't played the lottery lately but will. Never had a smooth rap to lay on a woman.

All my relationships began as happenstance, just being at the right place at the right time. 

Other than that, I'm good. It's been a full, fun life thus far. I've been married only once and to the same

woman for 22 years, raised 3 kids, became a grandfather -- what else do I need to prove?

Nothing. I'm set. It's kind of like painting a room in that perfect shade, stepping back, looking at it and

feeling satisfied with the outcome. That's my life in a nutshell and contentment fills the air. No need to

party at all, for I am as blessed and happy as can be. Here's to (at least) another 50 years. I'm just

getting warmed up.

A few days ago, I was browsing Facebook on my phone and saw a question posed from one of the feeds asking "Would You Get A Tattoo Later In Life?"  Without even thinking, my mental answer was a resounding "NO!"  I later responded by saying, "I already know my name, and everyone who's special in my life is in my heart and head."  Like reality-shows and the current state of music these days, I just don't get the whole #tattoo thing.  Look, it all comes down to personal choice.  You do what you want with your body and money.  For me, my skin will remain ink-free for the foreseeable future.  There is no need to advertise on my neck, arms, eyelids, teeth or eyeballs what my friends and family already know.  Hey, I'm married, got three kids and a grandson.  What else is there to tell?  Now, if I had a sudden brain collapse and decided to get my body all marked-up, undoubtedly I'd have "Mom" and my kids' names written in elaborate script.  What, no wife?  Nope.  I love my wife dearly and always will, but we all know $hit happens and she may one day leave me for Morris Chestnut if he suddenly relocated from Hollywood to our street.  Then I'd be left with this permanent reminder of the woman with whom I've spent half my life.  And that would suck big time.

Speaking of my wife, I have a little confession to make to her:

Baby, lately I have been observing other womens' butts.  Specifically, the cracks.  See, you'll never know how refreshing it can be to see a woman who, when crouched over to tie her shoe, or when wearing low-rise jeans, is not sporting Chinese writing above the crack of her derriere.  I am so sorry to admit this to you but it was all in the name of research for this blog.  Rest ASS-ured there was no malicious or devious intent on my part.  Nobody's rear looks as inviting as yours -- especially as it's devoid of any wording or fancy designs across it.  I love you (ducking flying frying pans and vases.)

My eldest daughter, thisclose to turning 22, has two tattoos, one on each arm.  One reads "Alma" (my Mom) with a halo, the other has her son's initials in a fancy font.  Admittedly, they are nice but hey, her choice, her body, her money.  Big props for not putting her loser boyfriends' names on her.  She wants more of them, and that's something she'll have to deal with, not me. 

And as one who thrives on observing people, I cannot begin to describe how an otherwise GORGEOUS woman's looks get marred by the presence of curly lettering up and down her neck, on her face, scrolling across her shoulders, and along her legs.  Major yuck factor there!  For me, "Tattoo" will forever be the character on the old TV show "Fantasy Island" and nothing more.  Oh, and did I mention the Biblical take on this subject?

The Bible warns us against tattoos in Leviticus 19:28 (Amplified) which says, "Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print or tattoo any marks upon you: I am the Lord."

'Nuff said.

We all have 'em, can't control 'em, and despite the great technological advances over the past 30 years, nobody's been able to record them --  dreams.  I will not offer any clues as to what they mean or why they affect us as they do because I have not one shred of professional or scientific data to support any claims.  That said, here are just a few of some of my most vivid and often nonsensical slumbertime scenes dating back to the late '60s:

"IMPLE PINK" (1968)

In 1968, this dream consisted of me looking through our dining room window up at the dark nighttime sky.  A dim image of the James Salt Water Taffy barrel began to zip across the sky, but the barrel read "Imple Pink" instead.  I remember walking away and afraid to look back but curiosity got the better of me.  I went back over to the window, and this time the image was bold and bright like a full moon as the words "Imple Pink" were again moving across the sky and I ran away at top speed.

"HOLE IN ONE" (1975)

Those of you who remember the old game show "Concentration" will recall the prize listing panel behind the two contestants' podiums.  When a contestant matched two numbers on the puzzle board, a corresponding prize would be credited to that contestant.  Well, in my dream one of the panels had been broken (punched in?)  and it upset me so much it woke me up.  Please don't ask why.

"WHAT'S NEWS" (1983)

A classic.  In this dream there was a huge construction site at Penns Landing with mounds of rocks and debris all over.  Seated on this debris was a portable black-and-white television set tuned to the local "Eyewitness News" broadcast with then-anchors Steve Bell and Jerry Penacoli.  Bell had just finished a sentence and Penacoli was about to read the next story:  "In a news relea-- new-- new re-- new--new--new..."  Penacoli was trying to say "news release" but kept stumbling over his words.  Realizing his mistake, rather than trying to correct it, he begins mugging into the camera and making extremely weird faces.  Bell takes the copy and says, "Better let me take this one, Jerry."  Bell then reads the story while Penacoli is now tap-dancing on the news desk while singing "Singing In The Rain."  I never laughed so hard from a dream in my life.

"WHERE'S FELICIA?" (1983)

I dreamed I had a daughter named Felicia Michelle.  She was about 5, wore this yellow sundress, had long hair and was the prettiest child on the face of the planet and I loved her so much.  Then, she disappeared without a trace and I was extremely heartbroken when the dream ended.  Woke up and realized that hey, maybe I might want a kid sometime in the future (I was single and childless then.)  Got my wish in 1994 as my wife and I welcomed Felicia Danielle into the world;  our older daughter, Jessica, was born in 1989.

"MISTER ROGERS' TIRADE (1991?)":  This really happened.  my then- two-year-old daughter Jessica came into our bedroom as the wife and I slept and turned on PBS to watch "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood."  Though asleep, I could hear the television clearly in my dream but my mind was operating on the cusp of consciousness and snoozing at the time.  In this episode, Mr. Rogers was making a bowl of granola and he was explaining to all the good little boys and girls that, "Some people like to put nuts in their granola."  Now, this is when things went crazy.  The dream then took over and Mr. Rogers went ballistic in it:  "Well, who in the hell are these people to tell me what I can or cannot put in my granola?"  Rogers is now pounding on the counter, shouting, flipping the bowl over and throwing a major fit.  "IF I WANT NUTS IN MY GRANOLA, THEN DAMMIT, I'LL PUT THEM THERE!  PFFT!  THE NERVE OF SOME PEOPLE, TELLING ME WHAT I CAN OR CANNOT PUT IN MY DAMN GRANOLA!!"  I woke up truly LMAO and relaying this dream to family and friends countless times over the years.

"THE BLUOY BLOWOUT (1992?)":  Kids in the resort town of Wildwood, New Jersey took to the latest amusement sensation -- "The Bluoy Blowout" (pronounced "bluey")  In this dream, children flocked to these small purple and green "seats" that were eerily reminiscent of Barney The Dinosaur with its mouth stretched wide open.  Once a kid positioned his or her posterior on the contraption's "mouth", it would then quickly bend backward and body-slam the child to the ground, almost like a madcap scene from the Coyote/Roadrunner cartoons.  The kids would get up and do it all over again, seemingly unhurt.

Of course, over the years there have been numerous dreams of my being stuck in elevators, walking nude down the street, talking toasters, and falling flat on my face for no apparent reason.  I've dreamt of old girlfriends and women I wished were my girlfriends.  I've had dreams of coworkers and the old building in which we worked for so many years.  Since we vacation in Wildwood every year, this town has probably been dreamed about more than any other subject.  And for whatever reason, I keep popping up on 'Wheel Of Fortune' -- not as a contestant but a behind-the-scenes kind of guy, like a director.

I have dreamed of my mother so many times recently it's ridiculous, the most recent one featured her talking and laughing with my good friend's sister at a mall.  In fact, Mom was having such a great time, she actually ignored me!

Nobody knows for sure what these episodes really mean, but it would be an outstanding accomplishment if someone, somewhere, somehow devised a method of recording them for us to rewind and play back at our leisure.  Somehow the sight of Mister Rogers throwing a hissy-fit could never EVER get old.