The population of the planet in 1952 was approximately 2.635 billion people. I was born in May that year. I will be 68 in two months.

Several years ago the UN announced that humanity has reached seven billion people faster than predicted by the most Malthusian experts on growth. The death rate of 150,000 people each day can not keep pace with the birth rate. 50 million short every year from the 1952 population means that over 3 billion people have died since my birth.

3,000,000,000 was a rough figure as was my estimate that 700,000,000 people out of 7,000,000,000 are 60 or over.

One-tenth of the world is older than me and 90% is younger.

That latter percentage include my son Fenway and Fluke and my daughters Angie and Noy and Pen and my two grandsons.

Forever young one way or the other.

ps I heard a population expert asked a question by a TV interviewer.

“What will be the population of the world in 2050?”

“Five hundred million,” the venerable scientist answered without a pause to think.

“Five hundred billion? The UN predicts 8 billion.” The reporter checked his notes.

“They’re wrong.” The scientist was not impressed by the UN numbers. “One billion worldwide.”

“And what will happened to the extra six billion people on the planet now?”

“They will be gone.” The scientist laid out his thoughts about how nature will reduce the global population through floods and natural disasters due to environmental change. “And there is nothing we can do about it.”

“That is a very dire forecast.” The reporter was taken aback at such pessimism.

“No, because those years will be very exciting for the young. The old will not survive. Not them it will be hell, but for the young, it will be a new time of adventure.”

In 2050 I will be 98.

I will be living in Thailand on the shores of the new ocean.

My rice factory will turn out the best beer on the planet.

My children will be happy. Their children too. And their children too.

It’s all about location for the oldest man left on the planet.

Two guns in my hands.