Date: (n) a particular month, day, and year

I can tell a lot about myself by what pops into my mind when I hear the word.

Date.

What is the first thing that wiggles its way to the forefront of my brain when I hear this word?

Because certainly, any time before the age of twelve, the word “date” would have been serious—referring to an upcoming test, a visit with an unwanted aunt and uncle, or a journey to the dentist.

Then it changed.

The word “date” became the possibility of interaction with a woman.

Am I going on a date?

Do you want to go on a date?

Suddenly the word evolved—from a grim hassle to a joyous possibility.

Then I move to a point that the word does not stand by itself, but because I am about to be a father, it is preceded by the word “due.”

What is your wife’s due date?

When will the baby be here?

On what date will you be rushing her to the hospital?

Maybe different from you, I had a season when the word “date” meant money. Being a writer and musician, the word “date” referred to an opportunity to perform my songs, sell my products, interact with an audience and maybe make some dough.

It could leave me all tingling.

Then there was a huge space of time when the word “date” represented upcoming events which would take my children through graduation and marriage.

What is the date of that ceremony?

What date will he be starting his new job?

And now that I’m a bit older, all the retired people beckon me to join them in measuring time by having a calendar for one purpose and one purpose only.

To register the dates of doctor’s appointments.

They frown at my reluctance.

They scowl at my rebellion.

Matter of fact, the offices of these medical technicians often call me, wondering when I plan on coming in for my date.

I always set a date with them.

And then I never show up.