No CPR required.
Just a salute to a man whose music has been the soundtrack to my life from the age of six.
Who can make 64 look downright sexy.
Whose penchant for blondes has been a source of depression since he married Linda in 1969.
I never had a chance.
Then again, I was only 12.
May you be singing, rocking and touring until you are ninety-four!
I’ll be there.
You’ll recognize me.
I’ll be the seventy-eight year old with grey hair in the front row waving her walker to the music.
With four generations of my family rocking right along side of me.
Because, as we all know,
You’ve captured two generations of hearts already.
Happy Birthday, Paul!