This week, the youngest member of my high school
class turns 60. That’s right—the entire Costa High School class of ’70, a bunch
of Central Illinois Catholic kids who grew up in the ‘60s—are now a couple
decades older than those teachers we thought were “older than dirt” were back
when we were raising Cain in our gender-segregated high school classrooms.
When I celebrated my 60th birthday
earlier this year, it looked as if I were going to be spending the day alone.
My husband was still living and working a state away, and my daughters and
families both lived hours distant. I planned to eat a frozen Weight Watchers
cake for breakfast, work, and mope about being alone on my big day.
My family had other ideas.
Using some sort of social media magic (the Facebook
event function, I suspect), they threw a surprise card shower for me. I got
birthday cards in the mail and greetings on my Facebook page for days, some from
a few of those long-lost classmates. It was a day to remember.
Even better, instead of 60, I felt about 16. We
aren’t 60 the way our parents and grandparents were 60.
Baby Boomers don’t get old, do they? I know, there’s
probably some kind of saying about that somewhere: “Old Baby Boomers don’t die,
they just … ”
As the rest of my friends turned 60 throughout the
year, I often posted messages such as these:
“Happy
birthday, So-and-so! We’re going to rock 60 like it’s never been rocked before.”
Or
“Welcome
along as the Class of 70 rocks the sixties once again.”
Every time I shared a greeting, I wished I could
give each of my friends a gift of some sort. Like many, my budget just doesn’t
allow for 70-some gifts for classmates and other friends my age.
A
rite of passage
One day, I realized that, as a health care
communicator, perhaps there is a gift I can share with my fellow Friars and
friends. It’s a reminder that it’s time for another rite of passage. We’re old
enough now.
Just as we once reached an age when we could receive
our First Holy Communion, vote, be drafted, or drink, we’ve reached the age
when we can get a shingles vaccine.
What, you wonder, is the big deal about that? If
you’ve ever known anyone who suffered through shingles, you’ll
know. If you haven’t, this video will help you understand.
I
did it
I got my shingles vaccine a couple months ago.
It’s not a cheap immunization. I was lucky. My health insurance covered it in
full. Coverage varies by insurer, but one thing’s sure. You can’t put a price
tag on pain—so this preventative measure is worth the cost.
Class of ’70, as we turn 60, happy birthday! My gift
to you is this reminder: Protect yourself. I don’t want to read a message like
this on Facebook:
“Crap.
Sure wish I would have gotten my shingles vaccine. This itching and burning is
killing me. I feel so miserable can’t go golfing (fishing, dancing, hiking) or ride
go karts (bicycles, Harleys, jet skis) or play baseball (basketball, soccer,
pool) with my grandkids.”
After all, you can’t feel 16 if you’re hurting like
a sick 60-something, can you? Get that shot, Class of 70.
Happy 60th!
© Ann Tracy Mueller 2012
(Image via)
