Fifty years ago this month, in April 1974, I turned seventeen. By age twenty, I awarded that age this honor:
It was the favorite year of my life.
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Before breaking down what elevated age seventeen to this lofty position, a bit about my youth. My childhood was the equivalent of my most beloved meal: Thanksgiving dinner. Give me a plate of turkey, bread dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy—as much as I love them, no vegetables to slow me down, thank you—and I am in taste-bud-pleasing heaven.
That was my childhood. Everything on my plate was delicious. In my house, I was the middle child of five. There was safety in that position. I didn’t have the demands of the oldest (my brother, Tom). Or the only girl (my sister, Sue). Or the youngest (my brother, Mark).
We were blessed with parents who loved us and provided us with everything we needed. Our house was filled with fun. Our block was crammed with kids. Our town was safe.
With those things in place, here’s what fell into place for me at age seventeen.
I had a job …
I began working at Todd Pharmacy three months before turning seventeen (Todd Pharmacy: my 50th anniversary). Initially hired to clean every evening, I soon was stocking shelves and running the cash register. I hated cleaning (still do), loved the process of taking items from the back and refilling the shelves (I manage my kitchen with the same fervor), and reveled in waiting on customers.
That last one calls for more. I already knew I had a natural wit and loved making people laugh. What I didn’t know was how much I would love interacting with people of all ages. This job was a vital step in preparing me for the career I would find in my thirties.
… where I gained my best friend
Fifty years later, Tim Todd and I still call each other best friend.
Here’s what I wrote about Tim eight years ago: Meet Tim Todd.
I had a bicycle
As soon as I’d saved a few bucks, I replaced my one-speed Schwinn with a ten-speed. I rode that bike everywhere, my most frequent trip being out to Brian Cribbs’.
For the 3.5-mile ride, I headed west on Wilcox to Whitbeck, south to Old Channel, west on Old Channel to where it hits Lamos, but as it goes south it remains Old Channel. Just before the hill and curve at White Lake, I took a left on Lakeshore and soon his lakeside house. At Brian’s, he and I either did that teenager thing—we hung out—or when others came with we played baseball in the Cribbs’ pasture.
My friend Larry Kroll and I were so bike-crazy that we would go riding with a coin in hand. Nearing each corner, we flipped it—heads, turn left; tails, turn right—allowing chance to determine our route. We wound up all over Montague.
Whenever we didn’t catch the coin, we were able to circle back, remain on our bikes, and reach the street to retrieve it. Oh, to still be that limber!
I had my driver’s license
I didn’t need to drive a lot, but I loved that I was able to do so. Soon, my sister taught me how to drive a stick. I loved the act of shifting gears so much that my first two cars had manual transmissions, and Julie’s car has one.
I won a lot of Tigers’ tickets
When Whitehall’s radio station became part of the Detroit Tigers’ network, they introduced a weekday trivia question. The prize: two Tigers’ tickets. The catch: you could only win once.
I won twenty times. Forty tickets.
Well, Greg won once. Then, ahem, Tim Todd won. And Dave Faught. And Scott Bradley. And Cindy Roessler. Okay, maybe I didn’t impersonate Cindy, but she joined us for at least one of the many games our gang attended with our free tickets all because I knew baseball trivia, was quick on the dial, and wasn’t called out by the radio station: “Hey, I recognize your voice!”
I finally grew tall
I entered high school as a 5’1″ shrimp. Nowadays, I know why I didn’t hit puberty until I was seventeen—my endocrine system was disrupted when I was a fetus—but in those days I was nothing more than a late bloomer.
I loved that I grew tall. I developed, athletically. And I hoped the girls noticed, because I sure noticed them.
I was still safe from a landmark I feared
Though I enjoyed safety in every facet of my life, I was afraid of everything new. Thus, I was scared of this looming event: graduating from high school.
If I would have known what would come of my life—how each of the goals I would set for myself by age twenty-one would be achieved, but then one by one dismantled—fear might have led me to blow my classes so that I would flunk and have to repeat twelfth grade. Yet, what young me couldn’t know: for every goal I would lose, something marvelous would take its place.
At seventeen, I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life. At the time, it wasn’t college or a career—both of those arrived in my early thirties when I returned to college so that I could go to seminary.
At age twenty-one, I met the girl I would marry at age twenty-two. At twenty-three, I became a father. At twenty-seven, a homeowner. At thirty-nine, a pastor.
Age seventeen might still stand as the favorite year of my life for it’s twelve months of serenity and fun, yet I can name numerous ages in which I either accomplished something huge or something notable happened to me.
As this month I turn sixty-seven, I won’t try to pin down a single year as my favorite. Having pondered age seventeen for this piece, I see how when I was young I came to reckon it as my favorite age.
P.S.
Janis Ian wrote “At Seventeen” when I was seventeen.
Though I wasn’t often attracted to female artists, this song grabbed me when it was released soon after I graduated high school into the scary unknown, each element of the song drawing me to contemplation: the sexy melody that felt haunting, and the lyrics’ themes and what I heard in Janis’s voice: a plaintive longing of envy for those who appeared to have it all; craving to be known and accepted, to understand and be understood. I was able to flip the song to myself, the guy searching for his place in the world—to be liked and respected by his peers, most of whom he revered for their seeming lack of fear, their abilities, and their popularity.
I’ve never shaken my weakness for envying people who are in situations I long to enjoy. And fear remains a bugaboo for me, even as I reflect on a life in which I took chances and accomplished things that few would dare to chance or be able to accomplish.
As I reflect on age seventeen, I see it as my being in the sweet spot of life. I had freedom—a bike, a driver’s license, and spending money—but I had no significant obligations. High-school graduation was still safely in the future, when adulthood would be forced on me.
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Fifty years ago this month, in April 1974, I turned seventeen. By age twenty, I awarded that age this honor:
It was the favorite year of my life.
Eilers Pizza 