On June 29, 2023, I officially turned eighty-seven years old. And as so often happens, a few days earlier as I was having my first cup of coffee and contemplating that approaching day, a song from my past came to mind. The song was Frank Sinatra’s 1966 hit recording, “It Was a Very Good Year.” Once described as “nostalgic and melancholic,” those of us of a certain age likely recall the song as, perhaps, hauntingly poignant. Those of us who are now of “that age” can well relate to its thematic title, repeated in every verse.

The first verse begins,

When I was seventeen
It was a very good year…

and I thought, yes, when I was seventeen, it was a very good year. It’s quite outside the norm to not have a very good year, when you are seventeen. I was soon to graduate from high school, and doing well on grades. My two seasons on the Iola Mustang football team taught me to defend myself, be a team player, toughen up a bit. Dad had put me on a tractor at a very young age, and that experience led in time to having my permanent drivers’ license in my pocket, my ticket to freedom. I had overcome my natural shyness and was doing some dating. When you are seventeen, the world is your oyster, anything is possible. Any goal, regardless of what might be, or prove to be required, was achievable if only you applied yourself…when you are seventeen.

Then the song continues,

When I was twenty-one
It was a very good year…

Oh yes, twenty-one was a very good year. After two years of college classes and nights of studying together, after two years of wondering “would he/would she?” the cute blond from Bronson, Kansas had said yes, and I was soon married to the girl of my dreams. By twenty-one, I was halfway through college and on the way to an electrical engineering degree. Whether it was a wedding present, or perhaps revenge for some of my teenage years, Dad had gifted me with my own (very old, very worn out) car, and helped us get an affordable place to live while at Kansas State, via our beloved little “Buddy” home-sweet-home. Yes, twenty one was a very good year, but being twenty-one doesn’t last. Time moves on, as did the song.

When I was thirty-five
It was a very good year…

Thirty-five was a very good year, for us. A lot had happened, pretty much all of it good, in the fourteen years following our twenty-first birthdays. We both had seen our dreams of a college degree fulfilled, both having graduated from Kansas State. We moved to New Jersey, where I entered my first plunge into the world of electrical engineering, on the Nike Zeus Missile program at Bell Telephone Laboratories. After two years, we packed up and moved to Ohio, to enroll at Ohio State University. Three years, and our first two kids, later saw us moving to the mythical land of Texas, and a job with Texas Instruments. Thirty-five saw us in our first, for real, house, and me with both a Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in electrical engineering, and a family of three growing, lovable kids. Thirty-five saw me with yet another dream fulfilled, as I was a pilot, duly licensed by the Federal Aviation Administration. We had joined a local church we loved, with our kids beginning their school years. Yes, thirty-five was a very good year. However, the song does not end, at thirty-five.

But now the days are short
I’m in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine
From fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs
It poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year.

Yes, the days do feel short, now, in some vague way. A lot of life happened, between thirty-five and eighty-seven. Those three kids grew up, becoming much-loved adults with families of their own. My engineering career ended to start, and ultimately lose, two businesses. But thanks to the wonders of the Internet, I soon began, and continue now, to do part-time work for our Florida son’s business. The girl of my dreams, the light of my life, was called home after fifty-five years of being my Dear Companion. There were marriages and painful divorces, and much-loved grandkids joined us as the years came and went. Life-long friends left us for their Home Eternal. After losing my beloved, after fifty years living in my adopted home-state of Texas, I left to move to Maine, to live with our daughter and four very-grand kids. There, among many other experiences, I bought a tractor and reverted a bit to my life as a farm-kid.

As that song played through my mind, I could only admit that regardless of circumstances, good ones, painful ones, each in its own way was a “very good year.” When in the Springtime of our lives, when days are long and full of hopes and dreams, it’s easy to feel that they are very good years. But now that the days feel short, and I’m in the Autumn, or perhaps Winter, of my life, I have to admit that eighty-seven has been a very good year.

It’s not the year that marks the top of a calendar that plays any role in how that year will be lived out. Seventeen, or eighty-seven, having people who love and respect you, a beloved companion who stands beside you regardless of life’s circumstances, friends who care for and about you—having those make every year a “very good year.”

When I was eighty-seven,
It was a very good year…