September 16, 2012
I recently started a new job that requires me to leave early in the morning for work. I now have to take my dog, Chase, for long walks at four in the morning in total, all-encompassing, and quite scary darkness. I consider myself to be a pretty tough guy, and not afraid of very much. Except for Great White Sharks, annual prostate exams, and my Mother-in Law’s tunafish casserole, I’m usually pretty brave. I’ve never really believed in Aliens, Ghouls, Monsters, Ghosts or Spirits. I even think it’s silly that some people believe in Bigfoot, and watch shows such as “Ghost Hunters.”
I learned something interesting the other morning when I went on a walk, hours before the first signs of life-giving sunshine crept over the far horizon. It’s scary out there man. A quiet, safe, and familiar suburban neighborhood with nearby farms and patches of woodlands, turns into a veritable house of horrors at four in the morning. Even my dog was scared to go out. He’s a ninety-five pound bundle of muscle and fearlessness, and when I said, “Hey Chase, let’s go for a walk”; he just stood there and shook his head back-and-forth.
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September 3, 2012
I was going to hold off on writing about “aging gracefully” for let’s see…… maybe….. another twenty or thirty years. I really don’t feel old. People I know tell me that I look pretty good for someone who’s best days are behind him. “Thanks a lot guys.” I eat healthy, walk at least twenty miles a week and I take kick boxing classes with people half my age. I admit I have some minor aches and pains every once in a while, but that’s nothing to worry about. My knees get a little stiff when the weathers cold, and my teenage son is now faster than me. It should be noted that he likes to prove it over and over again.
I was actually feeling pretty good today after a brisk walk with my dog, Chase. That was until I retrieved my mail and saw a big thick envelope with AARP plastered in big bold letters across the front, and my name on it. Enclosed were a card and an application to join a national group for those with a few miles on them, which would entitle me to wonderful benefits in my retirement years.
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July 14, 2012
The other night I was looking at some old baby pictures of my now, nearly six-foot teenage son with the size eleven feet, hands as big as mine, and the first tentative beginnings of a small mustache. I find it hard to believe that he was once so small that he could fit in my two hands. It seems like only yesterday, I witnessed his entrance into the world with a final push, a gentle slap, a frantic breath of air, and a piercing cry that rattled windows and startled nurses two floors below. I remember thinking how he was possibly the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. His birth was one of those moments that you hold deep inside you as a precious memory that neither time nor life’s unpredictable circumstances can ever erase. I also remember how as he was gently lifted and laid across my wife’s chest, I looked a little closer, stood up straighter, and yelled,
“It’s a boy!”
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