I find myself a year younger than Bill, and despite the confidence that I still possess my pedagogical prowess, I am not returning for year 46 in the classroom in September. I have learned that life tends to become more challenging as you age. There's a persistent soreness every morning you wake up. Proper nouns become an ongoing challenge, from "What IS his name?" to "What is that book I read?" The aging process introduces more pills into your routine—this one for the heart, that one for blood pressure, and another for digestion. You find yourself attending more funerals than weddings. The days take on a more melancholic tone, particularly during that "certain slant of light" (as described by Dickinson) in those winter days like today. As you watch a game, you reminisce about watching contests with your grandfather, who has been gone for 55 years, and your Dad, who passed away 38 years ago. People in their forties start addressing you as "sir."
Bill is not exempt from any of these experiences, and perhaps he, too, recognizes that while his wealth of experience is unparalleled, bringing his "A" game every day becomes a challenge. Consider the realms of art, music, or literature. How many great novels, paintings, or songs were created by individuals in their seventies? My heart slightly aches for Bill today, but I also sense the immense pride he must feel for his life's accomplishments. As a Patriots fan since 1963, I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love for him and what he has done for the franchise.