BACK IN THE mid-1960s, my aunt's husband did what a lot of other husbands (and wives) did with spouses who no longer filled their wish lists: traded her in for a younger model. Given the fact that my aunt was not even 30 at the time, you could rightly say that her eventual ex was a bit picky. In fact, given the age of the shiny new model he ended up choosing, Uncle "Johnny" was dangerously close to being known as "Uncle Holmesburg."
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about getting older. I'm not yet old, at least not by the standards of a society that has been so profoundly influenced by the Boomers, my generation. We have refused to succumb to the biological certainty of decay and decline, and have pulled pop culture along with us.
I MAKE NO secret of the fact that I'm (an imperfect) Catholic. That makes for interesting conversations with strangers who know me only by what I've written, particularly former Catholics who still can't believe I go to Mass. So many of them wonder why I don't speak out against the horrible scourge of child abuse that became one of the preferred media obsessions over the past decade and a half.
WITH everything else happening in the world, I probably shouldn't have an opinion about Brett Favre. Even if there weren't a presidential election, two wars, a recession and Lindsay Lohan's sexual orientation to worry about, Philadelphia sports teams usually provide more than enough drama to keep me from obsessing about the cheeseheads and their future Hall of Famer.
See Christine Flowers on Channel 6's "Inside Story" Sunday at 11:30 a.m.