EDDY'S PAGE
by Eddy Robey M.A.

T. S. Eliot may have thought that April was the cruelest month, but it has always been a great one for me. Okay, it's usually exhausting as well, what with all the spring scrubbing and Seder cooking. You know what? No amount of work can wreck the fun, because April also means my birthday is on the way.

Ooh, I just love getting older. As my skin becomes more loose and comfy, I am ever more comfortable within it. People keep assuring me that I'm not getting older: just better, more mature, wiser. Folks act as though old were a dirty word, something to be avoided at all costs, but I gleefully disagree.

Being young had its good points, but there sure were a lot of struggles. Fifteen requires only one word, acne. Twenty-five meant the challenge was mothering a toddler whilst also trying to find my own way to handle the new responsibilities of adulthood. At thirty-five, I returned to college, and balanced the demands of my son's education with those of my own. By forty-five, life was certainly more manageable, although it included the anxiety of being an Army mom.

Now, let us compare life at fifty-five with the preceding years. The toddler is through medical school, married, and settled in his own home. It's his turn to fuss over me now. Grad school is over, and any crinkles in my now blemish-free complexion only add to my air of erudition. I have survived so much that composure is my middle name. Alfred E. Newman and I have much in common; "What, me worry?"

When people try to tell me I'm not getting older, that sounds as silly as the manner in which they often deny my height or lack thereof. Lack? I'm four feet eight inches short, and rather fond of describing myself as dinky. Folks trying to give me a compliment are forever saying that I am big inside. Guess what? Big is not necessarily better than small, any more than young is better than old.

Each year is full of treasures and pleasures which are endless. I've just returned from a happy week spent at Walt Disney World, where the carousel ride is as enjoyable as any I took at age five. Pleasant experiences now are enriched by the memory of others which have gone before, and glad anticipation of those which are yet to come.

Oh boy, I can taste the cake and ice cream already.