It's gotta be more than genes.

Oh, so many young people. Teen-agers. School had just let out. In the city of Carbonia on the Mediterranean island of Sardinia, where I’m living.  Several hundred  teen-agers milling  about. Made me wish maybe that I was younger.  Because we seem to be going in opposite directions. Some just beginning life’s journey. Others nearing the end.  Maybe  recognized for first time that I had become old, chronologically speaking, about 10 years ago. When auditing a course at a seminary. Looked around the classroom. And became aware that I was probably the oldest guy there.  Anyway, read not long ago about someone achieving 113 years. Made me feel young. There was speculation about where the old fart ranks in  the oldest living human category.  We keep such statistics. Didn’t used to. What if  I became the oldest geezer some day? Would I brag about it?  And show off? By jogging a marathon or skydiving from a plane? Maybe I'd celebrate  having become a teen-ager again, sort of. I'd have started counting over after the first 100 on Mother Earth.  I’d try to ponder and relish what it was like the first time. At actual 13.  The year my dad committed suicide. Already had enough of life. At 38. And how many times have I read about teens opting out even sooner? Suicides every day of very young people.  No desire to reach 113.  Wonder if the 113-year-old is full of desire. To live and live and live. Forever. How else would he have made it that far? It’s gotta be more than genes. –Jim Broede