2000

 

Saturday, January 1, 2000.  01.01.00  

          It is just another date, but it seems magical anyway.  We are lucky (in one odd way of thinking) to be alive during this arbitrary calendar transition that marks the first day of a thousand year period when people will keep track of the date with a four-digit number with a two at the start.  And yesterday was the last day of a thousand year period when people kept track of the date with a four-digit number beginning with a one.  A thousand years.  A millennium.  And it starts now.

            Because I was born in 1942, I am 58 years old as we begin the new age, which means that regardless of how many years I live into the new millennium, I truly belong to the earlier one, which is fine.  I do like thinking I may see some part of the 2000s—that should be fun, but I’ll always be the old guy, the dinosaur who was born in the middle of the twentieth century.  Again, I’m good with that.  That was my era.  I’m glad I was a part of it.

            My father, who was born in 1914, died in the eleventh month of his 55^th year in 1970.  He had hoped to be alive in the year 2000.  We talked about it once.  He calculated that he would have to be 86 at the millennium, which he didn’t think was likely given the short life of his own father.  But he took a delight in the thought that I would probably make it.  So to repeat:  I feel fortunate, privileged really, to have lived long enough to see this magical date.

            But the day itself was dull.  My wife the RN had to put in a shift at the hospital, and I didn't do much at all.  I took care of a few routine household chores, read a few chapters in Pride and Prejudice, took three (!) short naps, and cooked supper.  My wife went to bed early—she works again tomorrow—and I was in bed before 11:00.  But here’s where the day got special:  I slept without interruption till 8:30:  9 ½ hours!  That's damn near a record for me.  

             I’d say that’s a good way to start any millennium.