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My dad was born on Christmas Day in 1904 on an island in Maine. He was not planned. His mother was 42 and nearly died in the process, and no one thought he'd make it either, though he lived 93 full years. My favorite story about Dad was when he was 80 years old and loved playing tennis. His serve could not be returned. But that spring, the head of the tennis club told him he was too old to play, that they couldn't find a partner for him. Since he'd always had a love for flying, he decided to head to the airport that day and sign up for lessons. 

At 81, he soloed and made the front page of the newspaper. In his words, "That'll teach them to think I'm too old!" Physically, he grew shorter but so much taller as a man. His positive belief that you're never too old and that age is just a number is one I hope I've inherited. I'm 74 and going strong! 

— Judy, Pagosa Springs, Colorado  
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