An older couple discusses with a younger couple what has kept them together – and passes along some great advice.
No Longer in my Twenties
Recently, I had a revelation: I am no longer in my twenties.
There were obvious signs prior to this new dawning.
For example, of late, in order to read small print, I must either remove my glasses or post the document across the room. Conversely, I must also use the “zoom” feature on my computer monitor to increase font size for virtually everything on screen.
I also must admit a tinge of guilt in continuing to list “brown” as my hair color on driver’s license applications. Rather, “gray with a small bit of brown remaining” is more appropriate. (Since there is not enough space to use this accurate description, I rationalize “brown” as being as honest as possible.)
Oh yes, one other indicator that I am no longer in my twenties is that I am the biological father of a 31-year-old. Even the most forward thinking and mature twenty-something would be hard pressed to have 31-year-old offspring.
Alas, despite this ever-growing chorus of facts, the dawning of my age did not fully appear until I weighed myself last week.
How will Your Future Self Differ from Your Current Self?
Warning! This is going to get a bit heady.
We exist in three times:
- Past Self
- Present Self
- Future Self
Obviously, we can do nothing about our Past Self. Our Future Self is not yet here. The only Self we control is our Present Self.
If we want our Future Self to be whatever we tern as “successful,” we have to start directing our Present Self to become that person.
To do that, we need to ask ourselves questions. [Read more…]
Twenty One Years at Goal Weight
I entered the planet at nine pounds 14 ounces.
Assuming that to be normal, thirty years later, as a newly minted father, I panicked when the doctor informed me that my firstborn weighed six pounds six ounces.
Looking me in the eye, attempting to calm my jitters, he replied, “Six-six is normal. I promise he’s fine.”
“But I weighed ten pounds when I was born!” I protested.
“I can’t help it if you were cruel to your mother,” he replied.
Moral of the story: I was born big, and from that moment, packed on the pounds, tipping the scales at ten pounds for every year.
To explain, I weighed 50 pounds at age five, 90 pounds at age nine, and 130 pounds when I was a teen. From there, I accelerated, reaching 230 upon entering high school — poor timing to say the least. Of the 1107 students in my class, I was the second fattest. Further putting this in perspective, that was in the day when childhood obesity was an oddity, rather than unfortunately as it can be today, quite common.
Kids are brutal, so what were supposed to be some of my best years were anything but. Girls ignored me; guys badgered and bullied me.
Physical education was the lowest of the low.
My Favorite Toy
My parents told me they gave him to me as a Christmas present in 1955, in Detroit, Michigan in a two-story flat on Dexter Avenue.
I’ve seen the grainy 8MM movies, but of course, I don’t remember. After all, I was barely a year old, hardly old enough to know what was a “best friend,” let alone that he would be it.
At night, I’d hold him until I fell asleep; his very presence banishing monsters that lived under the bed and the shadow creatures in the closet. When wind against the windows caused the curtains to pulsate and the panes to howl a ghostly, eerie, wail, my little yellow buddy with the dark black eyes and furry body watched over me until the sandman cast his magic upon me. He shared my pillow, his yellow, foam, and fur body with plastic face peering over the blankets to protect me, long after I dozed.
I would drag him from Kevin’s to Joey’s to Victor’s during long vacations and hot muggy afternoons. He’d sit, floppy-necked, across from me on the kitchen table as I’d sip lemonade and draw with crayons. While I did homework, he rested, never complaining, near my pencil jar. And when no one was to be found and there was nothing to do but let my imagination take over, I covered him in aluminum foil, wrapped saran wrap around his head, suspended him from the ceiling light, and pretended he was an astronaut.
“Commander Puppy,” I said into my paper-cup microphone (adding the right amount of voice crackle to increase the realism), “This is Captain Scott. Over. Do you hear me? Over. Come in Commander. Over and out.”