I turned 60 last month.

“Turned”

The same thing we say about milk that’s gone bad.

“The milk has turned sour.”

“Phillip has turned 60.”

People were great with their birthday wishes:

“I can hardly remember 60….”  Everything is relative.

“Happy Birthday, you six decade old fart.”

“60 is Sexy.”  At least Denise thinks so. Don’t they call a person 60-69 a sexagenarian?  It fits.

And then there were some “made me cry” comments.  In a good way.

Decade birthdays, for most people, are bigger than the others.

Several weeks before the big event, Denise and my kids asked me what gift I wanted for the occasion.

I didn’t hesitate with an answer.  I had been thinking about it for a while.

“I want a basketball goal in the driveway.”

“No, really, what do you want?”

“Really, that’s what I want.”

So, I now have a basketball goal in my driveway.

My sons and daughter’s-in-law came over yesterday, and the boys and I put it together and rolled it out of the garage into position.

Denise and I broke it in with a game of H-O-R-S-E and “Around the World” yesterday evening.

Why would a 60 year old guy – an empty-nester – want a basketball goal in his driveway?

It takes me back.  Turns back the clock…

To my childhood…to my son’s childhood.

Dad showing me the underhand free throw that was they did it back in his day.

My boys and I talking and shooting hoops.  Our best conversations were not held in my study, but in our driveway.  There’s something about a ball that brings out stuff in guys.

It takes me away.  It’s a mental break.

There are  times that it is just me, the ball, the hoop, and my thoughts.

Shooting baskets can be a highly personal, solitary activity, or a completely social one.  It is both for me.  So don’t be surprised if you drive by my house to see this sexagenarian shooting hoops.

It may be for a few minutes.  Maybe for an hour.

I know this for sure:  It will be a good time.