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.
I DID NOT have a Dickensian childhood. I had more than enough to eat, unlike orphaned Oliver Twist. I had the love and attention that was denied to poor little David Copperfield. I was not forced to scavenge in graveyards, like Pip from Great Expectations. All in all, it was much more Brady Bunch than Bleak House.
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.