Aging......

It ain't for the faint of heart........

Which, Merriam-Webster tells me means "lacking the courage to face something difficult or dangerous."

But hey, hey hey.  We ain't gots no choice.  I loves me going to the local Community Center pool.  I plop my fat butt in the jacuzzi (with this baby affliction I got, I ain't sposedta get in hot water, BUT, aging helps me be hardheaded, think "it's my time, not your time", along with, "Damn this feels good.")

Where was I?  Oh yeah, soaking my fat body amongst the jets of the jacuzzi.  A perfect place to eyeball the diving board thirty feet or so to the West.  I loves me watching some tykes getting up there for the very first time.  There's quite the variety... you got the naturals.  Doesn't happen often, but does.  You got the noseholders. I ain't real sure why that bugs me but it does.  Just shoot me, it looks kinda 'sissyfied.'  Yeah, I said it.  And then you got the ones, in spite of much verbal urging, encouragement from family folk on the side of the pool.... they walk up the steps to the board.  They may take two, or five, or even eight steps toward the end of the board, but NOPE, ain't doin' it, you can't make me, "lacking the courage to face something difficult or dangerous."

We oldsters, MUST, gotta, have to - take that walk on the diving board of life and continue to age.  We ain't gots not choice.

Older means slower..... Older means wiser, OR DOES IT?

I just revisited a Facebook post from a year ago.  The idiotic poster (me) was bemoaning the fact the Kansas City Royals show little or no emotion when they, strike out, make an error, walk a batter, yada.  And, that bugged me. Kinda like holding one's nose as they splash into the water from the diving board.

A few agreed.  A few didn't.  "I used to hit my golf bag with my club after a bad shot, all it got me was a beat-up golf bag." Anudder said they preferred the more laid back approach... and admittedly seen good things (winning) when you have vocal guys on the team, but, throwing things or breaking bats on the field is more about  "look at me" than winning."

So, I walked to the fridge and made a quick cheese sandwich, because, most of us old people, that's what we do.  We eat when we ain't really hungry.  We conform to the idea, contrary to dietitians, doctors, Dr. Oz and exhibit "You're not the boss of me."

Where was I?  Jacuzzi?  No, that ain't it.  I was busy racking my brain with the thought "I hate (love) when I'm this very old fart and someone very eloquently suggests maybe I'm wrong, provides detail to back their theory... so I wimp off (Holding my nose like sissy) and move onto whatever is next.  (Probably a pickle. I loves me some pickles. FYI, don't buy the "Great Value" pickles from WallyWorld, or the "Always Save" from the Piggly Wiggly...old age has taught me, there are just times you pay a little more for 'oh baby' so much better quality.)

Where was I?  I think you were trying to get the lid off the pickle jar Victor.  I've noticed, with age, you are having more and more difficulty with that.  Bite me.  True, but damnit, even if I gotta get the hammer out, I'm having a pickle, Vlasic, tyvm.

Going back to the baseball conversation - I've spent much, much of this growing of age (and growing fat) in my lifetime thinking "I'm right, you're wrong."  It's myway or the highway.  HEY TEACHER, LEAVE US KIDS ALONE. I don't have to have any meat to eat my gosh darn pudding.

SO JUST WHEN I AM ABOUT TO ADMIT, "maybe, just maybe these people are correct in their thinking 'be good sports', 'it ain't about you', 'if you hit your golf bag with your club you'll shoot your eyes out"......... or, I'M AGING, MAYBE, aging helps me learn "Victor, you ain't always right."  (Say it ain't so.)

And then I was humbled.  The wife of onea my friends.... men play baseball, women play softball.. oh you there choking on what appears to be suggesting I'm a myso... misew... misojen...misogin... ahm, a person who dislikes, despises or is strongly prejudiced against women, way inside the checkenginelight there's a blog where I list 214 ways to prove I ain't no misogynist. (Up to and including to fifty years ago when I was one of the two very first coaches on the very first women's team at a local college the first year after Title IX happened. So THERE, nanny nanny boo boo.)

Where was I?  Victor, you were probably gagging on that sliver of glass that was in the Vlasic pickle after you were finally able to open the jar with your ball peen hammer.  No, that ain't it.

I was about to................ drum roll kinda sorta..... admit a woman put me in my place.  And I ain't even sure if she ever played a lick of softball in her life.  She wrote:

"I like that they model good behavior for young players. I don't want to see Little League's throwing tantrums when they strike out or lose much less paid professionals, and you can compete fiercely without hating your opponent. There is already too much hate in this country."

Inotherwords, aging thankfully has taught me there is generally more than one opinion on things in life.  Like, "Well I happen to think it's CUTE when my grandchild holds his nose after he jumps off the diving board."

OK, OK, OK....

Where was I? Victor, I think you were getting ready to swallow to a big ole gulp of pride.

Yeah mebbe.  Aging is kinda sorta (hard) but teaches me (us) to be a little more tolerant.  I don't like me some saggers... treble hooks in the nose... hustle-bustle.. tailgating..yada.. but thankfully I've worked hard (cheese sandwiches, pickles, yada) on building this body shape of mine, and I don't think it's possible to forever again get it bent out of shape.

I draw the line at holding my nose off the diving board though, even if you do think "it's cute."

Bend me, shape me, anyways you want me, long as you love me, it's alright.

By Henry Gibson      (Forward by Greg Louganis, Keith Richards and George Gobel)

Love,Victurd