Last night I Smoked A Cigar, Drank Some Scotch & Talked About Women
Got about an hour before I head out to play ball but time to write is hard to come by so I am here…now.
Listening to Bob Seger sing about The Fire Inside and being Like a Rock and I am fighting the urge to grab a beer and sit outside in the twilight. Fighting the urge to grab some Scotch and sit outside in the gloaming thinking about my grandfathers and how very strange life has become.
They’d get it, they’d understand.
500 Push Ups
Still might write some fiction tonight about what it is like to be crazy and madly in love as anÂ olderÂ fellow. Might write about what happens when you find the person who makes your heart pound like no other and what you are willing to do. Might write about how when you are young it never occurs to you that moms and dads are just boys and girls who are still thinking, feeling and loving creatures.
But that might have to wait. If you are among the lucky you can see inside my heart and head and you know what lies beneath the surface.
And yet maybe you forget or wonder if I really know all the things I say I do and I say to you–don’t question what is obvious.
Superman and Kryptonite
In between it all I am sitting here thinking about how in spite of the aches and pains, the clothes that don’t fit right any more I still have more moments where I feel like superman than not.
Still just know that I can find a way to turn back the years and play/act like a teen because force of will will make it so.
Yet my inner peace isn’t quite what I want because my own old manÂ is battling again. That guy I call dad has kidneys that aren’t doing what they should and it is hard to see.
Hard to see because even though we all reach a place where our fathers become human there is forever that piece inside that thinks they can do anything and yet I see age taking chunks from mine.
He doesn’t complain about it. Most of the time he just goes about his business and I wonder how I can ever voice a single word of dissent about anything because he is hard.
He doesn’t bitch. He doesn’t moan.
He just goes on.
And yet I know that there is this thing called time that is working against him. I know that his health isn’t what it could be and I can point to a million things he has done that have set this in motion.
I Would Fight It
I would fight it. I would do battle. Wade out into the midst of the mine field, take the bullet, do whatever it took to help but I can’t do more than I have done.
Can’t do more than watch and hope that things go better than I fear. Can’t do more than watch and hope that this hitch in my heart is tied into other things, that it is just transition but…
A thousand years ago I sat with my grandfather and listened as he told me he knew the days were getting shorter and the long night was coming. Listened as he told me he would fight to keep going until he couldn’t fight any more and that would be that.
It was very matter of fact and maybe when you are over ninety it is easier.
I remember listening to my other grandfather talk about my grandmother and how he told me that she had a great ass at 91. He laughed when she made a face at him, but they had 76 years of marriage.
And when she died I saw him suffer in ways only someone who has been in love for 85 years can suffer. They met at 11.
I would have fought for all of them too.
Out On The Court
Out on the court tonight I will be fierce and unforgiving. I will play until my body aches and tomorrow will require ibuprofen but it is the only way I know.
I’ll do it because I can’t fight the things I want to and all I can do is try to enjoy the moments and live as best I can and because maybe if I push myself hard enough I’ll find a way to be around long enough to meet my great-great grandchildren.
And later in the quiet I’ll think about the nights where I smoked a cigar, drank some Scotch and talked about women.