AN INSIDE LOOK
By Bill Gouveia
For
many of us it is difficult to recognize changes in our behavior and habits as
we grow older - unless of course you have been blessed with children. They usually have no problem stepping up and
telling you when you start to exhibit symptoms of aging, either physically or
socially.
When
you are a dad with two sons, it’s even easier.
If I ever start to wonder if I’m slipping in any particular area of life,
all I have to do is go see one of my boys.
They seem more than willing to highlight any areas of failure my wife
may have skipped out of sympathy.
The
fact they are usually correct is no consolation and in my mind no justification
for their general honesty and accuracy.
In fact, it just gives me more motivation to live long enough to see
them reach my current age bracket. I
want to be able to make fun of them and point out their inevitable shortcomings
- assuming I am still capable at that point, of course.
The
examples of this type of thing are easily documented. It starts when they begin groaning when you
make the same corny remarks or tell the same old stories over and over again to
their friends or relatives. The rolling
of eyes comes first, followed by the annoying finishing of your sentences,
concluding with the sad shaking of the head as if to indicate a deep sorrow for
what has been lost.
I
was on the way to a Patriot’s game last year with my best friend and my oldest
son when one of the most jarring and memorable examples occurred. My buddy and I were having one of our usual
discussions, like we have thousands of times in front of my son (my boys still
call him Uncle Rick). Then in the middle
we were interrupted by incredulous laughter from the back seat.
You
see, our conversation had started about our individual activities of that week
and somehow digressed into a comparison of the different medical problems and
medication we were each taking. If you
are in your mid 50’s or so, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about and
understand how it goes.
“Oh
yeah, I had that done.” “What medicine
did they put you on after that?” “Do you
take it two or three times a day?” “They
say if that one doesn’t work, I’m going to have to go on the same stuff you
take.”
My
son was aghast. “When did you guys get
this old?” he asked with more than a hint of glee in his voice. We exchanged knowing glances and then joined
in his laughter – though not as heartily.
“Wait
until you’re our age and have been married for 35 years or so – then you’ll
understand”, Rick told him. My son
merely shook his head and went back to his smartphone, no doubt a little bit
more worried about his future than he had been before the conversation.
As
much as I would love to ignore this and other warning signs, the age bell seems
to be ringing louder these days. Trying
to stay up for Red Sox west coast games is a lost cause. Mowing the lawn seems to take a bit longer
than it did in prior years. Any
alcoholic beverage I drink now usually comes with an umbrella.
But
I can still get down on the floor and play with my grandchildren, even if I am
a bit slower in getting up. I manage to
keep posting on Facebook and other social media, no doubt embarrassing my
offspring. And most importantly, I keep
whipping their butts at fantasy football.
Their
mother has not been completely spared from this treatment, although they
generally tend to be much kinder to her.
She still thinks she is picked on, but she has it easy. She no doubt deserves that after being with me for the last 40 years.
The
fact my kids care enough to tease me is in truth a great comfort and source of
pride for me. But please don’t tell them
– then they might actually stop. And
that would be the hardest adjustment of all.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and
can be emailed at aninsidelook@aol.com and followed on Twitter at
@Billinsidelook.
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