Act Your Age

As many of my followers know, my father was a no-nonsense kind of man.  Oh, he had a marvelous sense of humor, but to his way of thinking there was a right time for humor and a wrong time.

Oftentimes, I was not privy to the nuances of his beliefs. I was a reflective child and teen, but I was also very ready to laugh, during all occasions, in all places.  Perhaps I would not laugh at a funeral, but that’s the only time I can think of which called for complete seriousness.

Many times, during those twenty years my father was ruling the roost, I would laugh at the wrong time, a time designated by Dale LeRoy Holland as “serious time,” and immediately I would receive the stern look accompanied by the words “act your age!”

Into high school, into college, those words were aimed at me, from time to time, by classmates or teachers, act your age, Bill. Thankfully, my best friend Frank shared the same sense of humor, so I at least had his approval to keep me from wallowing in the depths of seriousness.

I have often thought of those words.  What do they even mean? Act your age . . . is there some standard I am not privy to, some chart which lists acceptable behavior at ten, at twenty, at fifty and beyond? That would be helpful, you know, for those of us who are socially awkward. I, for sure, have no clue regarding socially acceptable behavior at any given age and, if we are being completely honest, I have no desire to see such a chart nor act on its instructions.

Last week, under a towering fir, watching clouds float by, I thought of my age, seventy-five, and what acceptable behavior is for three-quarters of a century? I see many of my peers in nursing homes. I see many hobbling along the sidewalk, eyes down, a cane or walker helping them with their journey. Worse yet, many of them are in recliners, in front of the television, spurring on Pat and Vanna, living vicariously with each spin of the giant wheel of fortune.  And I gotta tell ya, folks, if that is acceptable behavior, deal me out of that game. I want nothing to do with it.

Switching gears ever so slightly, I am a huge believer in positive thinking.  Although the bromide “you are what you think” may be a bit of a stretch, I think there is much to say about refusing to “age gracefully.”  There is no denying the effects of aging.  But there are a hell of a lot of things I can still do, much more than those I can’t do, and I concentrate on that list, get off the couch, and go do them.

Was I acting my age when we sold the house, bought a bus, and took off for the open road? Not in the opinion of many, but those same people who thought I was having a second childhood, or slowly slipping into senility, are on social media constantly complaining about their current ache or pain or malady, or proclaiming to all how hard life is, or how unfair life is, and on and on and on . . .

I tell you true, if this is my second childhood, or if I’m acting childish, sign me up for more of it.  My life is good.   You are not going to read a stream of negativity from this boy. It’s not going to happen.  Life is a friggin’ blast, and I plan on riding the Immature Train until the final toot of its horn and my ticket is stamped invalid.

Act my age? Sorry, Dad, it’s not going to happen.

DEATH IS THERE TO KEEP US HONEST

I borrow from the lyrics of a once famous songwriter/singer, Dan Fogelberg, from his haunting, excuse the play on words, song “Ghosts.”  The next line in the lyrics is “and constantly remind us we are free.”

I always think of that song when I hear that someone I once knew has died.

I received an email last week from a woman who said she was the daughter of a high school classmate of mine.  She wanted me to know that her father had died last month, and she was reaching out to his classmates for any memories we had of her father. She went on to say he had died alone, a heart attack, but that she never knew him, and she was having a difficult time finding anyone who knew much about his past.

I found that to be profoundly sad.

Not only was this man a high school classmate of mine, but we had both attended the same elementary school.  I remembered his name, of course, but for the life of me I could not recall his face, nor could I recall anything about him.  He had a different circle of friends, as most of us do during those formative years; we crossed paths daily, for thirteen years, but all I could remember of him was that I thought he was probably a nice guy.

As is my way, I have tossed that around in my brain for most of the day, and that song has echoed in my mind, “death is there to keep us honest, and constantly remind us we are free.”  Stunning lyrics, and I encourage you to Google the entirety of the song lyrics, for they perfectly capture the essence of life (and death), and the reflections based on our lives.

We do not have an endless supply of mulligans.  We only have a limited supply of opportunities to right wrongs, and the clock is ticking on chasing dreams.

I can’t remember his face. I remember nothing about him, and yet I saw him, daily, for thirteen years.

There was a song released, this being in 2005, thereabouts, by Tim McGraw, titled “Live Like You Are Dying,” a #1 smash, as I recall, a song which implored people to live life like there is no tomorrow, balls to the wall, what the hell are you waiting for, and like all one-line tidbits of wisdom, it was embraced by the masses, played over and over again on the airwaves, received its share of awards, and then the message was quickly swallowed up by daily life and forgotten like last week’s baseball box scores.

We all know the quotes of wisdom. Almost all of us, at one time or another, have posted them on social media, showing everyone how reflective and empathetic and caring and Buddha-like we are, and then we shut off the computer, head out the door, and completely forget the message.

Anyway, I can’t remember his face, nor do I remember anything about him.

And, evidently, his family felt the same.

Death is there to keep us honest.

And constantly remind us that we are free . . . this is the key . . . we are free to change.  We are free to alter our course. We are free to right wrongs we have done. And we are free to increase the love we send out into the world.

It is not too late!