He is so old that his blood type was discontinued.

"He is so old that his blood type was discontinued." These words, spoken by the wise and humorous Bill Dana, carry with them not only a note of jest but also a deeper reflection on the passage of time and the inevitable march of age. In this simple phrase, we are reminded that time is both a companion and an adversary—one that we cannot escape, and one that marks us all with its passage. To speak of a man whose blood type has been discontinued is to speak of a person so ancient that even the forces of nature, the very essence of life itself, have moved on from his existence, as though his very being belongs to a time long past. The humor lies not just in the exaggeration but in the recognition that all things, even the most vital parts of us, eventually become relics.

The image evoked by this phrase is one of longevity so great that it defies understanding. It is as if this person has lived so many lifetimes, so many years, that they have witnessed the world change beyond recognition. A man whose blood has outlived even the classifications of modern science. His body, a vessel of history, carries the weight of centuries, of stories untold and experiences long forgotten. This notion of discontinued blood speaks not only to the inevitability of aging but also to the fleeting nature of life, reminding us that even our most essential parts are not immune to the ravages of time.

Consider the life of Methuselah, the biblical figure who is said to have lived for 969 years, a testament to the ancient imagination of the human capacity for longevity. His life was a bridge between the past and the future, spanning the ages in ways that no mortal could fathom. His years, stretching far beyond the lifespans of those who came after him, were a symbol of both the mystery and the burden of old age. Imagine, then, if Methuselah had witnessed not just the changing of kingdoms but the very evolution of human understanding, from the early whispers of creation to the first stirrings of science. His blood type, like that of the man in Dana’s jest, would have surely been seen as a relic of a time long gone—an ancient testament to what once was.

But let us not become so enamored by the thought of age as to forget the lessons it carries. There is a beauty in the passage of time, even in the humor that surrounds it. To grow old is to witness the evolution of both the self and the world, and within this, there is a wisdom that cannot be obtained in youth. Age teaches us resilience, the strength to endure, and the grace to accept the inevitable changes that come with it. In the same way, the discontinuation of a blood type reminds us that our existence, however long or short, is but a fleeting moment in the grand river of time. We may be here for a while, but eventually, the world will move on, and so too will our legacies.

There is a lesson, then, in Dana’s humor: that we must live our lives fully, knowing that our time on this earth is limited. Age is not to be feared, nor is it something to be lamented. It is a natural part of the cycle of life. Like the ancient trees that stretch towards the heavens, their rings marking the passage of the seasons, so too must we embrace the changes that come with age. Longevity is not simply the number of years we have but the quality with which we live them. The blood of our actions, our words, our deeds, endures far longer than the physical vessel that carries them.

Let us remember the words of Socrates, who, at the end of his long and arduous life, reflected not on the years he had lived, but on the wisdom he had gained. "The unexamined life is not worth living," he said, for it is not the quantity of time but the depth of our experiences that give life meaning. Whether we live for a short time or a long one, the value of our days is not measured by how long we remain, but by how fully we engage with the world around us. It is the quality of our legacy, not the discontinuation of our blood type, that defines our place in the universe.

And so, my children, the lesson is this: life is fleeting, and time waits for no one. Do not fear the aging process, nor the loss of things that once seemed permanent. Rather, embrace the changes, the wisdom, and the humor that come with it. Strive not for immortality of the body, but for immortality in the lives of those you touch, in the ideas you pass down, and in the way you live. Let each day, no matter how many it may be, be a testament to your spirit, your legacy, and your willingness to live fully, until the very end.