When I was dating my wife, we'd go to her brother's house for family gatherings, picnics, and swim in the pond with the nieces and nephews. Up by the house, a table sat at the edge of the large deck under the shade of a large oak tree. As I lazed in the sun on the small sandy beach area, I'd see them, the aunts and uncles, the old people, sitting at that table enjoying their coffees or lemonades.
The years have passed. My brother-in-law and his wife have moved into a small trailer set a little closer to the pond. His eldest son has taken over handling the "estate" of six acres. We had a party the other day. All the family showed. The grandkids and great-grandkids frolicked in the pond, running helter-skelter here and there. I sat at the table at the edge of the large deck under the shade of the huge oak tree. I was enjoying my cup of coffee, talking with the other siblings of my wife's family, watching the kids. I was once more reminded of how the old people (the aunts, uncles, moms and dads) would sit at the table and...
OMG!
I was the 'old people' at the table.
Sure, Uncle Earl passed. Aunt Mary went to her Heavenly reward. Even mom and dad had taken their turn visiting the Pearly Gates.
But, wait, when had the baton been passed. When did I — that's right, the three of us — me, myself, and I — when did we become one of those to sit at the esteemed table of elders?
I longed for the sunny beach; to allow myself to throw caution to the wind, no reservations, allow the sun to crisp my body to a golden brown.
I held my hand over my eyebrow to shade my view and see the kids out in the water.
NO! I'd seen my wife's dad, and her Uncle Earl do that. Not me! It couldn't be me!!
I sipped my coffee, resigned to the fact — I was old. I'd moved on. No longer was I the stud lounging on the beach. My heydays were over.
Never!!
I stood, my bones creaking and cracking in the action. I was going to take my rightful place back in the sun. As I was about to leap off the low deck onto the lawn, I thought better of it, turned and carefully, one step at a time, made my way down the staircase and to the path to the pond.
About four steps later I realized the truth. I hurt. The idea of getting down, laying on the beach, allowing the glorious sun to bathe my body...
I cringed. Thoughts assailed me.
1. That's a lot of white flesh to expose, not only to the sun, but to the world.
2. They don't have a crane handy — how are you getting back up?
3. Your six pack is more like overstuffed carry-on luggage.
4. Do you really want to hear the kids, grandkids and others laughing?
5. Or worse, crying for you to put on more clothes?
With the sincerest look I could offer, I turned to the others on the porch deck and said...
"Damn! I forgot what I was going to do!"
And humbly walked back up to sit at the table.
There is honor in growing old. It is a rite of passage. You are an elder to be respected.
Yeah, right! That's a lot of hogwash.
As Judge Thurgood Marshall stated when asked why he was retiring...
Because I'm old!
Yes, I'm old but I do believe I'd remember when the baton was passed to me. Obviously, as I have now learned, it is done without any pomp or circumstance. No ceremony. It is a simple case, one day you don't have the baton, the next day you have it. I also discovered, it does not, I repeat, does NOT come with instructions.
In fact, a little head's up — very little of growing up comes with instructions. Sure, you get guidance when you're young, but when you hit a certain age, all those who are older than you, well, they have moved on, and suddenly, you are now the font of all things important, somewhat relevant, and unfortunately, more often than not, totally useless information of a period gone by.
A few years ago, the matriarch of my wife's family passed. Yes, my mother-in-law, at the ripe age of 103 (one hundred and three) went to her Heavenly home. My parents had already passed. At that moment, although I hadn't realized it at the time, my wife and I became the matriarch and patriarch of our family, as did my wife's sisters and brother with their families. The baton had been passed. There was none for us to go to for advice. We now were the Oracles, the deities of information, good or bad.
Epiphany.
When did I get to this point? How did I get here?
The answer is simple. I got here one breath at a time... and there were a lot of them.
As king, my first proclamation...
HELP!!
Until next I ramble on...
In fact, a little head's up — very little of growing up comes with instructions. Sure, you get guidance when you're young, but when you hit a certain age, all those who are older than you, well, they have moved on, and suddenly, you are now the font of all things important, somewhat relevant, and unfortunately, more often than not, totally useless information of a period gone by.
A few years ago, the matriarch of my wife's family passed. Yes, my mother-in-law, at the ripe age of 103 (one hundred and three) went to her Heavenly home. My parents had already passed. At that moment, although I hadn't realized it at the time, my wife and I became the matriarch and patriarch of our family, as did my wife's sisters and brother with their families. The baton had been passed. There was none for us to go to for advice. We now were the Oracles, the deities of information, good or bad.
Epiphany.
When did I get to this point? How did I get here?
The answer is simple. I got here one breath at a time... and there were a lot of them.
As king, my first proclamation...
HELP!!
Until next I ramble on...
No comments:
Post a Comment