Samuel Huntington died yesterday at age 81. I was in college between 1960 and 1964. Huntington was already a distinguished professor. He was in his mid-30s. To me, he was a mature, adult, all grown up. Today, I don’t view anyone in their 30s quite that way.
Which reminds me of my high school. My high school principal’s son was in my class. I saw him at our 40th high school reunion, and asked him how his father was. He told me that he had just turned 80. I attended the same high school for six years (grades 7-12). That meant that, my first year, the principal was 34 years old. This is astounding to me, for the same reason.
I was born in 1942. A friend had a baby yesterday. This means that this child will look at me as I would look at someone born in 1876.
I had better starting thinking about something other than time.