Herb at 87, smiling and looking for work. He’s not good at retiring. He’s tried, but sitting around the house is not for him.
He doesn’t play golf even though he owns a bag and an array of clubs,gifts from earlier Father’s Days. My brothers hoped that he would join them on one of the many courses just minutes from the house, but no. He politely let his equipment live in the basement covered in cobwebs, until Jeff took pity and removed them.
He religiously begins each day reading a variety of local newspapers but isn’t much interested in reading anything else.
Once he had lots of friends to meet for a coffee and a donut, but sadly, most of them are gone to Florida and beyond.
Of course, he has my mom and they are a great couple but tv just doesn’t do it for him. He plays a bit of solitaire on his computer.
My dad’s very accepting and is resolved to live, bored to death.
I can’t help but think about myself at 87. I don’t think I’d ever be bored to death.
If I were, I’d complain a lot louder than my dad.