COLUMN: Aging not so gracefully
When I was a kid I would look at my dad and think to myself, “Why is he so weird?” I don’t think this is too strange and I think most people as kids believed their parents were either half-crazy or had been replaced by aliens in human suits and come to Earth to ruin kid’s lives everywhere.
But as Father Time has run me over a couple of times with his SUV of life, I find myself doing many of the things I swore I would never do.
For example, there are certain sayings our parents used when we were misbehaving as kids, aka having fun, that were repeated so often the mere mention of them cause the flesh to burn off our faces and every single joint in our bodies to pop simultaneously.
In my house these sayings were, “that will do,” “simmer down” and of course the counting, yes the eternal “one,” “two” and even “three” if I felt particularly rebellious at the time and as punishment I usually had to do awful jobs, was banished to my room or got the classic threat of “just wait until your father gets home.”
These types of phrases are spoken so many times to us as children they get incorporated into our being, burned into our souls where they lay dormant until we ourselves have children. Then in a moment when the stresses of life have you by the throat, you haven’t slept in days and you just want a quiet moment, your two-year-old does something really terrible like comes running into the room screaming joyfully. You turn to them, open your mouth and flames come out along with something like the following: “Will you please just simmer down?”
At this point you mentally clamp your hand over your mouth, your eyes grow wide and you actually feel your youth flee from your body, escaping to another being that still has common sense. Of course your child’s upper lip starts to tremble, their joy crashes to the floor and they wonder to themselves why you are so weird.
Usually at about this time, I stoop down, give my kid a hug and say I’m sorry. This helps a little bit, but once the words come out, they tend to hang out on the tip of your tongue and the next time they come even easier.
Another thing I’ve started to have to deal with is the problem of my body slipping away from its youthful teenage form, and well, turning into my dad’s. My hair is falling out of the top of my head and growing more plentiful on the top of my ears and feet.
When I ask my hairdresser to shave the back of my neck, her reply is “and where exactly would you like me to stop? Is the small of your back far enough?”
When I go to my annual eye exam, the doctor has to perform algebraic formulas to figure out my new prescription.
When I take off my shirt, my wife likes to perform the inkblot test on herself with the hair on my chest, but all she can say lately is, “I’m sorry. All I can see is the continent of Asia.”
The skin on my face doesn’t quite seem to be getting along with some of my bones and is sagging away. In other parts of my face the skin seems to be having some guests from out of town move in permanently.
If I don’t watch what I eat, my trips to the bathroom are more like an all-day event as compared to the five-minute visit they used to be. And let’s just say the toilet plunger and I have been seeing a lot of each other and we are talking about a long-term commitment.
I’m really just afraid I’m too far-gone at this point and there really isn’t anything I can do about it. I have National Public Radio programmed into my presets in my car, the music I listened to in high school is now considered retro and my idea of a good time usually involves a Scrabble board and some antacids.
So if any of you out there are experiencing any of these same things in your life, my suggestion is to either go and buy some Rogaine, get a body wax and get the mid-life crisis over with now. Or, simply accept the inevitable and slip quietly into the world of your parents with its bran muffins, wrinkle cream and repetitious bantering that tortures children everywhere and will allow them to become just like you someday.