Post 23 couldn't be about anything other than Michael Jordan. I use the number 23 every single day of my life since it is involved in every password I've ever made in some form. I've even started talking Molly into using 23 in joint accounts and passwords, although I convinced her to use it because we conveniently started dating on June 23. If I had my way, I would have three kids and they would be named Michael, Jeffrey, and Jordan (or in the case of three girls, Michaela, Jeffreyina, and Jordan). My bedroom growing up had red carpet and black furniture. I had posters, jerseys, cut outs, and Wheaties boxes spread out across the room. For about a seven year period, I didn't own a pair of shoes that didn't have the Jumpman logo on the side of it. I can distinctly remember watching WGN to see him play, and I can remember almost every playoff game. I remember lying on the floor with goosebumps during the great plays and crying when he won his championships. Judging by the fact that ESPN more or less shut down all other programming for the week leading up to MJ's 50th birthday, I wasn't the only one.
One of the biggest stories surround Jordan turning 50 was his own reluctance to accept the fact that he wouldn't still be the greatest, even at his advanced age. Jordan built his career on the perception that everyone was out against him, that no one really believe in his talent. He went out every night to destroy the other team to quiet the voices telling him he wasn't the greatest, even though the rest of the world had more or less given him the title of the Greatest of All Time. As a young boy, I admired that quality. I hated losing, and because I had a bit of a self-confidence issue, most of my accomplishments came from an inner drive to prove to the world that I naturally better than other people at certain tasks, even when I wasn't. I saw his physical gifts as something I could never have, but that didn't mean that I couldn't be a winner just like him and, in the meantime, enjoy watching him defy gravity.
Jordan turning 50 effected me in a way that I wasn't really expecting because I, just like the Great One, can't really accept the fact that my childhood idol hasn't set foot on a professional basketball court in a decade. I somehow have managed to live in the denial that my dad is almost 60 or that my mom could in any way, shape, or form be over 50 since they don't seem like they've ever aged to me, but the publicity around MJ's birthday kind of popped all of those safety bubbles for me. My dad is 58. My mom is 51. My grandparents are all in their 80's or upper 70's. I am 31. My baby sister is 26. Michael Jeffrey Jordan is 50.
I think because I've been so incredibly lucky to have all four of my grandparents be a major part of my life and to still have all of them around today that I have been able to deny the reality of mortality. I've lost very close friends and extended family way too early, but my core group of everyday family members hasn't changed since 1981. My immediate family (including my aunts, uncles, and cousins) has been, for the most part, incredibly healthy, even when some of our lifestyle choices have put that streak to the test (let's not forget I almost weighed 300 lbs a couple of years ago). I don't get home anywhere near as often as I'd like to, and because of that, I think the aging process has become a little more apparent with some of my relatives. When you see someone every day, time seems to move slower and changes happen so gradually that you don't always notice them. When there are two, three, and sometimes four month gaps between visits, those changes are a little more drastic. I had younger grandparents, and when I think of them today, I still see them as I remember them when I was a child. I see my grandma Pat laying out in the sun as I splashed around in her backyard swimming pool. I see my grandma Nita being the caretaker of a constantly going farm family, but never not having time to get her hair done. I see my grandpa Clyde as the tall, strong man who comes in from hours of climbing around fixing tractors and combines in his shop, covered from head to toe in grease and dirt. I see my grandpa Wayne as the great outdoorsman who taught me to fish and shoot geese. The reality today is quite different. Age has slowed down my personal giants. The people who never ceased to have the energy to take care of their families, in particular their fantastic grandson, now often need help taking care of themselves. Michael Jordan turned 50.
As a related side note, my great-uncle Milo (who was always just my uncle, as far as I was concerned) passed away this week, and it was again a reminder that every great story (and his really was a great one) has to have an end. The people we love eventually have to leave us, and the best we can hope for is that the love they gave can be passed on through us to the next generation. I loved my Uncle Milo and have many great memories (most involve drinking pop out of glass bottles from the machine in his sports store). His wife, my Aunt Peggy, was sometimes as much of a third grandmother as a great-aunt, and I hope that she knows how much she and Milo are loved and respected.
I know I get a little sentimental sometimes, but I can't fight my nature. I love my grandparents, my parents, my sister, Molly, and the rest of my family and friends, and sometimes it is easier for me to say that in words than it is to their faces (a sad quality that I really hope I can grow out of someday). My quest to be healthy is as much a thank you to all of the time, energy, and love that I've been given during my 31 years, and Milo's life, as much as his death, once again remind me that I need to push myself to get the best out of every day.
Rest in peace, Uncle Milo.
Little Jeffy
Here is Milo's obituary, in case you'd like to see what all you can cram into 81 years.
http://www.feigumfh.com/sitemaker/sites/Feigum1/obit.cgi?user=923358Smith#.US1OWgkXFPw.facebook
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