50 is the New 22!

50 is the New 22! - One of the last things I remember from my Surprise 50^th Birthday Party was screaming this over and over again… until they asked me to leave.  I don’t say that any more.  These days I go by the old Mickey Mantle motto:  “If I’d known I was going to live this long, I would have taken a lot better care of myself.”

Listed below are a number of short experiences I’d like to share with you about being over 50 and a father of teenagers:

You know you’re in trouble when you have to seriously calculate the damage that you’ll do to yourself by having a fun night out.  Things like how many of your bodily functions will just cease to work, or which ones you’ll no longer be able to control for a day or so.

Fun on vacation: I’m chasing my kids around a fairly dangerous rock canyon under Yosemite Falls.  I really can’t keep up and it’s bugging the cr*p out of me.  At one point, to make it across a water way from one boulder to another, a complete stranger gives me a hand.  (I might have been able to make it on my own, but it was one of those situations that if I were wrong…not good at all.)  At dinner that night my son reminds me that if it weren’t for the stranger, I wouldn’t have been able to make it across the boulders.  Luckily for him, he was more than an arm’s length away.

I’m driving with my “Family” over Thanksgiving Weekend.  We go past an Assisted Living facility.  My wife nonchalantly says, “Oh, there’s a place we could put you.”  She and my kids burst into laughter.  I need to review my will…maybe hire a food taster, they still have those don’t they?

I had the opportunity to do a short training video for work.  They said the script I created was “EXCELLENT.”  The only problem was I couldn’t remember what I wrote.  When we were done, the girl mercifully said she could splice all of my “best” segments together.  I asked her if she was related to Houdini.  She asked me if I’d like to see the video.  I’m pretty self-centered, so I said sure.  She turns the camera around and hits the play button.  I could have sworn that my Grand Father was in the video talking to me.  I asked her if she knew that saying about how the camera put 10 pounds on you?  She replies, “Do you really think so?”  I said, “No, but it definitely adds 20 years.” 

And the "Piece of Resistance", I took the family to the movies to see Avatar.  My daughter was about 12, so I asked the woman behind the counter what the age cut off was for a child ticket vs. adult.  Her reply, "Well, what I can do for you is get "You" a senior ticket, that'll save you some."  Outside of, “Ah Sh*t!” I’m thinking to myself, I now know why they have these people sit behind thick glass with small openings.  It only gets better.  On the way in, my 14 year old son reminds me (I guess he thought I didn't hear the lady behind the counter – yeah right.)  He says with the biggest sh*t eating grin on his face, "Hey Dad, do you know that woman gave you a "Senior" ticket!” Being that I didn't want to spend the rest of my week in lock-up, I ignored him and walked into the theater.

The Friendly Proctologist:  This one I can’t claim as my own but it’s good.  It was a couple of days before New Year’s Eve.  A friend of mine (let’s say his name is “John”) had hit the 50 mark and it was time for a serious look-see in the hindquarters.  He’s bent over the examining table looking away from the doorway.  The doctor is “Deeply” involved in the exam, when my friend hears him ask, “So what are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”  Massive Panic sets in as scenes from “Deliverance” start flashing through his mind in rapid fire.  Then, like an angel from above, he hears the Nurse (who walked in quietly after the exam began) respond to the doctor.

A Special Message about Chewing Tobacco

Gang, this story “Mercifully” is not about me, but a really great friend/person named Andy.  Andy’s older brother Ken is telling the story to Andy’s Daughter.  Andy and Ken spent over a week one summer traveling with a friend in a broken down station wagon through the National Parks of the West.  P.S. do not read this story right before or after a large meal.  So the story goes like this:

“When we left Wind River the second day, Steve Tarr was driving. Andy was riding shotgun, tending to the 8-track, chewing and spitting tobacco into his Bronco cup. Most guys use something smaller than a Big Gulp when they chew, but not Andy; he wanted to see how much saliva he could produce. Anyway, I was sitting in the middle of the back seat reading a coffee table book about Yellowstone that my sister Cathy gave me the previous Christmas. (Probably, it inspired the trip.) It was a warm day. All the windows were open as we cruised through the Big Horn Valley toward Cody. Leafing through the book, I’d occasionally comment on what we might do or see once we got to the park. At one point, Andy was fussing with the tape deck, so I looked up to give him further instruction in how to work it. With that sense of frustration some younger brothers feel when they’re corrected by an older one, Andrew sat back. Suddenly, a gust of wind caught his baseball cap, blew it back toward me, and as he instinctively grabbed for it with both hands, he also threw the cup of chew spit in his left hand in my direction.

Most of the brown wave landed below my chin, covered my neck and chest, and ricocheted downward onto the book, rendering it useless for all but the most Texican of coffee tables.

Judging by my screams, Tarr concluded that it was probably a good idea to pull over. The instant he stopped, I got out and stripped, choking back my own vomit while peppering your soon-to-be-father with a succession of very bad bowling words. Andy, whose famous “Uncle Buck” looks revealed his sincere regret, made a perfunctory effort to assist in the clean up, even though he didn’t want to touch the stuff either. For years, I took it as proof of his innocence.

But, now, as I write this little memoir, I’m getting signals from the Great Beyond that his actions that day may not have been as artless as I thought. Regardless of his intent, though (or lack thereof), this undoubtedly proved to be my least treasured moment with your father. But it’s exactly the reason I loved him so much.”

Folks, the lessons learned here?... not the least of which is that tobacco products are very dangerous; Forgiveness also comes to mind.

Always remember:  Hug your Family and Cherish the Good Times! 

How to get a Heart Attack for $4 a Gallon

So it’s the summer of 2008, the price of gas is over $4 a gallon.  I’m sitting in the backyard with my friend and fellow commuter Brian.  We’re having a few adult beverages watching my dog destroy our back yard.  It doesn’t get much better than this.  Brian and I are grousing about the price of gas. It’s an outrage.  There’s a glut of oil, yet the powers that be have determined that we all need to PAY through the nose!

One more beer and I have an epiphany.  I will Not PAY the MAN any more.  Enough is enough, it’s time to make a serious statement and stand up for something. 

To solve the gas crisis, I’ve decided that instead of driving to the train station every day, I’ll ride a bicycle the 4 miles there and back.  I still have a gift certificate to a local sporting goods store from my birthday last year.  (Right there, that should have been a signal)  I go to the sporting goods store and purchase a very cool black knapsack that can hold a laptop.  I’m done with the briefcase, I’m now Mr. Green.  And I will NOT be paying the MAN any longer!

The other side benefit is that I can get back into some sort of shape…who knows what I could make myself into doing 8 miles a day.

There was one little problem (and it’s not the fact that I need to wear a suit to work every day, which of course I had not thought through).  The problem was that I live on top of a mountain…in the morning its 4 miles almost straight down.  You go very fast.  Another neighbor who was an avid cyclist warned me that early in the morning, even in the summer, when you’re cruising at 50 mph…it gets nippy.  Okay, yeah fine…I survived.  

The return trip was a different story.

It’s now about 7PM, oh.. 87 degrees out, and the humidity is about the same…87%.  My 1978 Raleigh Team Sport 10 Speed bike is still at the train parking lot…what a shame.  I’m a little run down, but still kind of excited about getting my exercise and defeating Exxon.

I start out on relatively flat terrain and I’m cruising, my confidence is building.  I then run into a gradual incline which is causing me significant discomfort.  I blame it on the 30 year old technology I’m riding.  Then like Lance Armstrong I hit the base of the mountain and begin to shift into lower gears as my lungs begin to scream at me.  They were using a lot of four letter words.  It’s now pretty clear that even if this bike had negative gears, I’d still be in a world of hurt. (Usually at this point in the movies, the cyclist summons some supernatural power and its mind over matter, he fights through the agony and triumphs.  I can tell you right now, that’s a bunch of crap.)  At this point I’m drenched in perspiration and my lungs can’t process oxygen any longer.   I look down at my chest…it’s as if I have a pet rock in my breast pocket and he wants out….only that’s my heart bouncing off the walls of my rib cage. I’m now being passed by biking families with small children, people in walkers…. It’s not good.

I get home totally humiliated.  My family asks me if I stopped off to go swimming…with my clothes on.  Fortunately for them I only had enough breath to scream for paramedics.

I think I made my point…that one day…the price of gas did come down.  

I Win.

I go out for Printer Ink, I come home with a Cat

How does this happen…it does if your Staples is sitting right next to Petco.  So we’ve now upgraded.  We not only have a cat, but we also have a large hairy, smelly beast of a dog that likes to live in water.  So we’re set, right?  One dog, one cat, two kids, we even still have a hamster.  I’ve done my Fatherly duty, provided food, shelter, a generous helping of pets…I’m done.  Yeah right.

We’re heading off to the Staples for printer ink.  Right next door is the Petco, where we’re going to pick up a bag of greenies and the “Gentle Leader Collar” for our dog who at the time had a mind of his own while on walks. 

We’re at the Staples on line to check out and I tell my family, “Why don’t you go over to the Petco and pick up the stuff there and I’ll come over when I finish here.”  That was my first mistake.  

I finish paying and walk over to the Petco.  There’s a sign outside.  It’s says, “Adopt a Cat Sunday.”  Not sure if you’re old enough to remember, but there used to be a TV series called “Lost in Space.”  In the show there was a robot.  And if really bad sh*t was going to happen he could sense it, and he’d start flailing his arms and scream, “Danger Danger Danger.”  That’s exactly how I felt when I saw that sign.  I walk into the store and just as you come in there are stacks and stack of cages of cats and kittens.  My family is immersed in them.  I start to become apoplectic.  My daughter has multiple cats on her head and shoulders, my son is juggling cats, and my wife has stacks of adoption papers in her hands.  This is not good at all.

I compose myself and with the mental agility of a super hero, I dart into the Petco without being noticed and devise a plan.  The plan is: I’ll buy the items we need, sneak out to the car, and just not come back in.  They’ll eventually need to leave and when they’re out of the store I’ll scoop them up and make my escape.

I pick up the bag of greenies, I go down the aisle for the “Gentle Leader Collar” and get the last one in my dog’s size.  I’m now on line to check out….I’m almost on top of my family, but they’re too busy with the cats and cat people that they don’t notice me.  I’m almost home free, when the cashier notices that there is no price tag on the collar.  Want to see somebody’s heart sink.  I see the cashier pick up the overhead speaker and request assistance:  “Could I get a price check on the “GENTLE LEADER COLLAR?”  I cringe.  My family is awakened.  They start to look up in the air and then quickly spot me at the counter.  They enlighten me about how lucky we are to have stumbled across these Free Cats.  I dig in.  My feeling is, “Hey, we have a dog, we have a cat, even a hamster.”  Are we looking to build an Arc?  We don’t NEED another cat.

So this cat’s an even a better bargain.   The cat people have arranged to have her all fixed up at their Vet for next to nothing.  The only possible catch is they give her an “aids” test.  If she tests positive, they’ll just put her to sleep right then.  They tell us they’ll call and give us the test results.  I’m home alone one night and there is a flashing new message on the answering machine.  It’s the Vet’s office.  The kitten has a clean bill of health, we can pick her up any time we want.

Now this thought only passed through my mind for a very brief moment…but I was thinking…if I erase this message and just tell my family things didn’t work out….I’m home free.  Then my mind switch to the Express Elevator to Hell I’d be taking if I were to do something like that.  I decide that two cats and a dog might be a little less painful.