I watched “On Golden Pond” on TCM the other Sunday. By accident. I was watching the end of the golf tournament, and my finger slipped. You know the film. A classic. Fonda, Hepburn, several academy awards. About an aged couple, he fading. I was jealous. Fonda looks good in those fishing hats, not me. So my bald spot, embarrassingly, grows in full view. And he has no turkey neck. How was I so unfortunate to develop one? But why, at my age, am I so vain? I had no youthful beauty to lose. He mends a fence with a daughter. Just in time. And about time. Good for him. My six sons are mostly distant. Our lines of love are long and buried. But strong. I hope. At the end, he collapses, she cradles. At the end, tearing, I raised up on weak legs and wobbled toward her. And kissed her before the sun set on Golden Pond.

Edward J. Gallagher