I’m 66 and I built things with my hands for forty years and the moment I knew I was old wasn’t a doctor’s appointment or a birthday — it was the day my son hired someone to fix the fence I could have repaired myself and the look on his face when I offered wasn’t gratitude, it was worry, and that single expression ended a version of me that had been running since I was nineteen

PUBLISHED Wednesday, March 11, 2026 · tommy baker