Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.

When I was a kid, in the 40's and 50's of the last milennium, I went to the movies at least once a week. We didn't have VCR's so we couldn't wait till they came out on tape, or DVD. But some old movies did make it onto the tube, network, of course, there were also no premium channels. I loved Bar 7 Theater, the westerns starring Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers, and my personal favorite, Johnny Mack Brown. OK, you never heard of him, but he was yummy. And there were all those Andy Hardy movies, starring Mickey Rooney, who was the Michael J. Fox original, spunky and very short, which kept him in juvenile roles for a long, long time. Andy was your typical angst-ridden teenager, always in love with some teen heart-throb, sometimes it was Judy Garland in her post-Dorothy mode. They were the ones that would get together and throw an extravaganza of a show in the neighbor's barn, something worthy of a Buzby Berkley film. Andy's parents, Judge and Mrs. Stone, were old. I mean, they were older than I am now. They looked at least 70, though in a kindly gone-to-pot-but-still-well-groomed way. Now, think about that. They would actually have been about 40, maybe 50 if they started really late, and people didn't do that as a rule in those days. So that was what I expected to look like when I reached 40, kind of frowsy and a little fat, wearing tents printed with rosebuds that covered me from neck to knees. I am 60, and I can tell you, I don't look like that now. Well, I am 61, but who's counting. I don't plan on looking like that when I'm 80, if by some grace I get to do that. No Ma Kettle mode for me. Which makes me want to run right over to the gym and sweat.