"Will you still need me...

…will you still feed me, when I’m 64?”

It’s Father’s Day, North Korea is polishing up an ICBM that may or may not work, and Dan Rather’s looking for a job, or at least seeking Kenneth’s frequency in Manhattan.

So what’s important? Paul McCartney is 64! He made it!

Sir Paul shades me by about ten years, which suggests what a pup he was when my grade-school teachers were expressing alarm about the new cultural phenomenon that was creeping into America via BOAC. Every generational couple has their song; the mother of my children and I will dance to Lynrd Skynrd’s “Simple Man.” That song would not have come to fruition without the Beatles. Thank you, Sir Paul.

Coincidentally, Ron Wood of The Rolling Stones drove through a rehab center prior to bombing out onto the latest tour. He’s nearly 60, and was there when Keith Richards fell out of a tree a few weeks ago.

I am endlessly amused by the aging process. I love rock ‘n roll, and will doubtless continue irresponsibility until the day I fall out of a tree and crack my noggin. [I see a bad horse jump, like Scarlett O’Hara’s daddy, in my future.]

As a child, I was regaled with reminiscences of ladies pulling their skirts up to clear walking over horse manure in the streets. My ancestors stood in the streets with shotguns and wiped passenger pigeons into extinction. My great aunt made 104; my grandmother made 100. What marvels they saw! My own small life will never compare. To go from stepping over horseshit to walking on the moon! The blessings keep on rolling; and I would not trade my occasionally dissatisfying life for anything. I, too, have seen marvels.

Sir Paul reaches 64, and I'm a couple of years behind him. On this Father's Day, my daughter would call this "cool beans." She has a rock 'n roll dad, and can also thank Sir Paul.

How did I ever live without a computer that lets me express this emotion to the world at the press of a button?

Mick, Ron, c’mon. We all love rock ‘n roll; I still get the head moving when the beat’s right. I have a horribly expensive set of Ludwig drums and Zildjian cymbals stashed in the basement. I still love ya, still need ya, and will still feed ya, even though you’re 64.