I measure my life against the things stacked against me and how I overcame them. What I have become is very unlikely, given the start I had. It’s plain to me that there was divine superintendence over my life, or else I wouldn’t be writing this memoir.
I’m a nobody really. Not famous, not in the least. A hometown boy with a blue-collar job and a few talents that I improved upon over time. Nothing more special than millions of others just like me. I think what separates me from other people is sheer persistence, sheer drive and will to get things done. I picked that up from my father. “Can’t” was not a word in his vocabulary. And when there was something to be done, it got done. No excuses, no whining, no ridiculous complaining.
From what I’ve been told, my first cries were accompanied by the sound of thunder. No one seemed alarmed at it. It was just another birth, just another human being to populate the earth, another creature occupying space, live three score and ten, then die. No matter. I was born, and what would 70 plus years bring? Life is a vast number of uncertain events oscillating through pain, suffering, ecstasy and joy. My challenge was relying on unreliable people who were so absorbed in their own pain they were unable to effectively care for the defenseless, and their ineffectiveness and incompetence became the source of my own struggles throughout life.
All my friends have major health issues now. In fact, many of our conversations devolve into health inventories. It’s kind of hilarious but sad at the same time. I call a moratorium on it so we can talk about other stuff.
But I had a conversation with someone a while back who told me, “You should write a memoir.” So here it is! The motivation for my life, lessons learned, tips I’ll pass on and maybe give you a laugh or two along the way.
It’s important to ‘get at this’ because, strange as it may seem, aging takes away much energy to do things that would have been normal in the past. What I mean is, things that seemed so important at one time – musical performance for example – have slowly diminished in their importance. I once heard someone say, “As you age, things that once seemed important aren’t important anymore.” I had no idea how right he was.
Part of this lament is due to the energy loss that occurred after I got a blood infection in the Fall of 2023. It knocked me out. In February of 2024, I was still struggling with the effects and probably will be the rest of my life.
One of my doctors told me he had a patient who said, “The guy who said these are the golden years should have his head examined.” LOL
Aging is NOT fun. The loss of capacity, the limitations, are quite unpleasant. You know what you could do, but the body says, “Nope, not happening.” And if you try to do what you did at age 30, well there's a likelihood you'll end up in the ER.
As I reflect on another reason to write this is the truth that we become less relevant as we age. We are no longer in positions of influence in the workplace. We no longer want to be the life of the party because we don’t want to go to the party (it's true!). Takes too much energy to find a parking space.
One of the weirder things about aging is the awareness that you work all your life to build knowledge and influence, only to find out you’re slowly being ushered to the outer realms of the group. In other words, you’re no longer in the circle of influence that you once held. People are nice, but they know you’ve lost a step and they’re not going to rely on you like they once did. It's just reality.
Another element of frustration is having to prove oneself in a new group. Even with all the experience, knowledge and learning I might have, I start over again every time I enter a new group. I had one pastor say to me, “You have a lot of experience, but I know that’s not valued much these days.” Truth.
Its’ evident to me that my life is slowly coming to an end. I'm rounding third and headed for home. I recently (12-23) took a trip to the ER after ingesting some bad pineapple juice, ending up with a blood bacterial infection which has cratered my hematocrit, hemoglobin, and red blood cell count. I was shellacked for three months.
So, it’s not surprising that I like things that endure. I like to see shirts with a bit of a tear at the sleeve or faded jeans. My wife’s not a fan and says, “I can’t take you anywhere.” It’s true – but I do clean up nicely when I want to. Forty years of starched shirts are proof.
But I don’t work in an office anymore, and my days are growing fewer. I’ve done a whole lot of things in my life, and I guess there’s enough energy for one more big thing, and this is it.
So why a memoir? I want to leave something behind, something that catalogues my life and tells tales and stories of what I once was. Something for my grandkids and more importantly, great grandkids who will know nothing of me without a written record.
You’ll hear about music, my job, my family of origin, my own family and kids, grandchildren and so much more.
And if you're a Baby Boomer, I'll bet you can identify with just about everything I'll share.
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