It's 5:27 in the morning, Dec. 10, 2007, and it's official that I am now a bona fide member of the Over the Hill Club.

This is a distinguished club; you gain your right of passage when you turn 50 years of age. In reality, I turned 50 last year, just needed a year in training. I have never been vain about my age, never lied about it, except when I needed to be older to get into a bar or nightclub.

Tim McGraw has a song in which he celebrates his age. In the song he has just turned 30, but the song can apply to any age. He sings about his first 30 years and what he plans to change and do better in his next 30 years.

Some things improve with age, like fine wine and cheese (obviously, this does not apply to the cheese I buy). This is the club I chose to be in, the "improve with age club." With age comes wisdom, with wisdom you understand that age is a simple case of mind over matter -- if you don't mind, it don't matter.

I remember when I turned 40. My sister, Karen, two years younger than me, called to see if it was a traumatic event to turn 40, as she knew people who had a difficult time with their 40th birthday.

I told her, no, I didn't feel any different than the day before when I was only 39.

I remember thinking, Should I fight this age thing or go with the flow? My two boys then presented me with a Hallmark card, the kind you make at the store on a computer. The front of the card had a really nice picture on it, it said "Mom, 40 isn't old."

I thought for a brief second, at least my sons don't think I'm old. Needless to say, the inside of the card read, "If you're a tree." Love ya, Mark and Alex.

I was born and spent most of my childhood at Williams Air Force Base in Arizona. Growing up an Air Force brat (or just a brat, if you ask Karen) and living in base housing until I was 10 taught me a lot of things.

My dad, a true patriot and hero in my heart, was what I call a lifer in the military. In other words, he made a career out of being in the Air Force. Some of the greatest times we spent together were sitting in the car watching the jets take off and land. Seems boring but it was really cool.

Believe me, there was not a more handsome man than my dad in full dress uniform.

I grew up in a modest environment. The house we lived in at WAFB was a small, two- or three-bedroom. I can't remember how many bedrooms but I'm certain there was only one bathroom.

We didn't have a yard per se, we had a joint play area for all the area kids to play in. We walked to school and had frequent air raid drills so we would know what to do if the base ever came under attack.

Some days the highlight of the day was to put a penny on the nearby railroad track, wait for the train to go by and see just how flat and out of shape the penny became.

Needless to say, I had a ton of those pennies. Back then I didn't know it was against the law to deface or destroy money.

I was a tomboy, my sister was a little miss. She was very girlie, never a hair out of place, wore dresses all the time, seems she was always painting her finger nails. She even painted her toenails, go figure.

I, on the other hand, was far too busy climbing anything I could find -- a tree, monkey bars, you name it, I would climb it, and a few times I would fall off or out of it and break my wrist.

I think I did this a couple of times.

Being close in age and about the same size, my mom liked to dress my sister and I alike. People thought we were twins. I think we both despised that, but, mom thought it was cute. We were different, sometimes very different, but, we had and still have that special bond of sisterhood, and she still, to this day, polishes her toenails.

After supper we played tag with the other Air Force brats. During one tag session, Karen tripped in a hole and my brother Pat fell on top of her, resulting in a severely broken leg. If memory serves me right, that cast went clear up to her fanny.

I think she was 4 at the time, seems she had that cast until she was about 8 as everyone doted over her.

People would see her and say, "Oh honey, look at that cute little girl, that must have been a bad break, poor little thing."

She would bat her baby blues at them and win their hearts over. When she went to see the doctor, he gave her animal-shaped erasers; I don't remember ever getting a prize when I went to the doctor.

We got an allowance every week, I spent mine going to the matinee every Saturday at the base movie house, and she usually saved hers. She reminded me about 20 years ago that she still had all my original IOUs from when we were kids.

I saw the movie "The Blue Max" so many times, I knew all the dog fights by heart. What a great shoot 'em up movie.

We weren't bad kids. One of us learned in a hurry to 'fess up if we did something wrong. You were still going to get spanked for what you did, but you would be spanked twice if you lied about it.

Hmm, lie and maybe get away with it and not get spanked or run the risk of two swats.

You had to try once in awhile, depending on the circumstances, to lie and get away with the wrongdoing. More times than not, it didn't work. You see, you always forget your parents were kids before they were parents, they know these things.

That walk down the hall to the bedroom for your spanking, compared to the walk the bad guys in the movies had to make to the gallows, you only had to go 10 feet, but it took an hour to get there.

Then you heard "This is going to hurt me more than you," how the heck do they come up that -- they're not going to get spanked, you are.

I understood later it was the disappointment in our actions that hurt them. I remember when I had kids of my own, asking my folks how they knew before I did something was wrong, that I was going to do something bad, then get caught and get in trouble.

Both basically told me, "There is nothing you can do that one of us has not done." Wish they would have disclosed that fact about 15 years sooner, it might have increased my creativity.

Trips off base were always an adventure. Bases back then were quite remote. Going out for a burger was a real treat and took some planning.

A trip to see Grandma in South Phoenix, maybe 60 miles away, seemed to take half a day to get there. Seems we didn't have much, but we didn't know that. At Christmas time we would take packs of cigarettes out of our parent's cartons and wrap them up as gifts for mom and dad. They always acted surprised and excited when they opened their presents.

Dad was easy, he was an Old Spice kind of guy. Mom was a little tougher but slippers always seemed to work.

Talking with my Dad this week I found out that Williams Air Force Base has been closed. The closing of the base brings sadness, as I thought it was a great place to grow up and I have so many great memories.

I think you can tell from this article that I idolize my dad. He is by far one of the greatest guys in the world, not just because he served our country but because he is my dad.

He has always given me great advice. I just always chose to wait awhile to implement it. He told me a few years ago, "Don't spend so much time making a living that you forget to make a life."

I think I am ready to start working on the making a life part.

My dad celebrated his 77th birthday Dec. 16, and I bet he was still handsome in full dress uniform. When I come home in April for a visit, we should pack a lunch and take a ride to Luke Field just to watch the jets take off and land. Might seem boring, but it will be really cool.

Thanks for being my dad. It is a pleasure to be your daughter.

Thanks for teaching me honor, integrity and that unconditional love, understanding and forgiveness a father has for his children.

I just put Tim McGraw's CD on and "I think I'll take a moment and celebrate my age, the ending of an era, the turning of a page."

Here's to you dad. Happy Birthday and many, many more to come.