I walked outside this morning at seven-fifteen for my morning walk. I was thinking pretty much the same thing I think every morning before my walk: That I HATE getting old. I really do. My healing pelvic bone still throbs from when I broke it. My COPD makes it hard sometimes to even get from the bedroom to the kitchen. My prostate is roughly the size of a golf ball, making the simple act of voiding my bladder a tug of war, with me pushing and pushing and finally winning in the end.
And I hate when my ankles get swollen.
And I hate not being the man I was when I was twenty. It's just...a lot harder:
And yet...
Here it is, July fourth of 2011. It's the 63rd year of my life.
And, as much as I hate getting old, I still love to shout at the clouds.
I love how my dog wakes me up by dancing around beside the bed and whining.
I love how my son laughs when I shout at republican talking heads on the news.
I love how both of my sons have found love.
And I love my granddaughter.
I love how her eyes seem more wise and knowing than my own.
I love hearing her giggle and squeal when I tickle her little belly.
God I love how she smells and how she laughs!
And I love that I am surrounded by love, remembering that too many are alone today. Too many are alone and frightened and hungry and without hope.
So, standing there on my porch with my dog, Angus, staring at the road in front of me, I realize that I do hate getting old. The ailments, the restrictions, all those clouds that have no one to yell at them!
Yet, even though time marches onward, seemingly faster and faster as the years pass, I still find that I get off that porch and move forward. Irritable old man though I am, I still have things worth fighting for; and people worth living for.
And if ya got something to look forward to...getting old doesn't seem so bad, after all.