Last night, I was one of the people who was privileged enough to watch the last commentary by Andy Rooney. Rooney, at the age of 92, finally decided to call it quits.
And who, really, can blame him?
To say Rooney has begun to show his age is to say that the surface of the sun tends to be a little bit on the warm side. And while he still possesses his distinctive voice, it's hard not to notice the fact that he can only get out a few words at a time before having to draw a labored breath.
But while his body may have been weakened by age, his mind has obviously never been sharper. If you doubt this, just listen to his final interview and commentary. (If, at this point, I have to tell you people to look it up--I ain't your damn search engine--then you really haven't been reading this blog enough!)
It's hard to explain what keeps the mind of a 92 year old man, whose body may be failing him in every other way, as sharp as a tack. But perhaps it's due to the fact that for more than 60 years, this man NEVER stopped using that mind. He wrote. Constantly. And it's something he enjoyed doing more than anything else.
The best job you can have is one that pays you to do something you love. And for most of his adult working life, Andy Rooney did just that.
More importantly, he was able to do it as long as he wanted to. And when he decided he didn't want to do it any more, he was able to leave on his own terms.
Andy, you have my never-ending respect. You got paid almost all of your life to do what you loved to do. And, in the extremely unlikely event that I ever meet you, I will simply shake your hand, say "Good job", and go on my way. Just like you asked.
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