Thirty-some years ago I would go to the roller rink run by this sweet little old man. He truly was sweet, and he truly was little--everyone knew him as Shorty. And old? I assure you, my eight-year old self saw him as the very picture of decrepitude.
Shorty died this week, and my sister sent me his obituary. I was surprised he had lived so long, ancient as he...wait--he died at only 87?
So when we knew him, he was in his mid-50s. Huh.
These days that hardly seems old at all.
And yet I was seventeen just a few days ago, right?