I’m submitting this column to the newspapers on my birthday. I was born June 22, 1949. That makes me 73 years old. And I’m kind of surprised I made it this far. Why? Because I didn’t inherit the best of genes. My dad died at the age of 47. He had six brothers. And of those six uncles of mine, only one of them lived past the age of 60. So again, I was thrown into the shallow end of the longevity gene pool.
Of course, the reason I’m still here has as much to do with lifestyle choices as it does with genes. My dad smoked heavily all his life, and he drank more than a little. I never once saw my dad take a hike or a bike ride or do any kind of physical activity -- other than his job. (He was a janitor at a church and school complex.) On the other hand, I’ve never had a cigarette, I drink just an occasional glass of wine, and my wife and I try to take a bike ride every day.
