I admit it’s strange, even wrong, to apply the word “boy” to a guy well north of 50, even if he does have a boyish grin. But here’s the thing about getting older, my friends: it only happens on the outside. Inside, you are the same person you always were, though it is possible—probable, even—that the life you’ve led with all of its deceptions and compromises has caused you to lose track of yourself.
And anyway, the long-forgotten but still familiar feeling of boy-meets-girl is the same, exactly the same, whether you are 20 or 80.
He said if I blogged about him I had to give him a manly sounding name. We agreed on “Brock Wayne.” But he’s still a boy.
No youngster beginning his life, but mid-aged and starting life anew, like me. Still a boy.
And I’ll tell you, as a divorced person living with teenagers, it is nice to have someone in my life who is consistently happy to see me.
Like a boy I meet behind the gym after school. We walk home the long way.