Sunday,
December 18, 2011
Last Father's Day, I gave my father a 10-lap drive around Dover’s “Monster Mile.” This seemed like a fitting Father’s Day
gift for a racing fan who’s done just about everything else. I remember my father playing
competitive sports until he was almost 50. So driving a race car six months shy of his 80th birthday
didn’t seem like such a big deal to me.
After all, he drives everyday.
When he turned 80 a couple weeks ago, I couldn’t help but
look at him and wonder... what in the world happened to me? Yes, this blog is all about me! If it weren’t for a twisted sense of
humor, you’d never know my father and I were related. He looks pretty much the same as he has since I can remember
sans the head full of gray hair.
He’s the same size and with the exception of a little selective memory
loss, every bit as witty.
I on the other hand, have aged 50 years in the last
20. In 2007, when people told me I
was too young to retire, I’d quickly retort, “Police years are like dog
years! Twenty years on the police
force is like 50 years anywhere else.”
That was a joke, so I thought.
But at 47, I feel like my
best years are about 40 years behind me. Now an armchair athlete 20 years removed from any sport,
Scrabble is about all I can handle.
There was a time when my father and I went out and people thought we
were brothers. Sadly, we’re no
longer related.
He’s up at the crack of dawn every morning ready to tackle
the tasks of the day, which have somehow increased since he retired. I start every morning with a backache
and a shower. My shave is as long
as the shower since it now includes a head that used to be covered with
hair. I put inserts in my shoes to
combat the heel pain, then sort through an endless number of prescribed pills
and ointments to see what I need to get through the workday. After I find my keys, I’m out the
door... trying to remember what else I left behind. But once I get to work, I’m good. I’m fairly efficient there, thinking with clarity, never
forgetting an appointment and seizing every opportunity to pounce on a
co-worker with my father’s wit.
Foot-in-mouth? I’m on
it. Wardrobe malfunction? Got it! Everyone (including me) is fair game if it will lighten the
mood in a place that can be down right depressing to work sometimes. My toughest decisions are where to eat
lunch and what non-prescription meds I need to get at the CVS next door... cough drops, Tylenol, Gas-X,
Imodium A-D... you know the ones you don’t need until you really, really need
them? I’ve got to buy meds I’m
already familiar with because by now, I’ve realized that the thing I left
behind was my glasses; and I can’t read the directions on those little bottles
anymore without them.
When I get home, I change, then head to the basement for
some exercise. I stare at the
programable bike for a few minutes, take the clothes off the handlebars and the
papers off the seat. I bend down
to turn the bike on when I feel that twinge in my back. “Hmm... maybe tomorrow,” I think to
myself. I could lift weights. But all that stuff that was on the bike
is now on the bench. So that’s a
no go. I spend a few minutes with
the bass, another round of pill and ointments, then off to bed. Another Monday down. Even if it’s not Monday, it sure felt
like Monday.
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