Becoming a Helper

 Over the past few months I have become much more aware that I am no longer a young man. I know what some of you are thinking right now—what took you so long? I mean, I know how old I am. I can do the math. But I have always possessed the confidence that I was different, that I had been able to somehow mitigate the normal ravages of getting old through a combination of exercise, determination, superior genetics and several Jedi mind tricks. But I have recently learned that doing a thousand pushups and walking 60 miles every month doesn’t change the fact that you soon will enter your seventh decade. The warranty has long ago expired.

Life is harder now. I can still do almost everything I’ve always done, but now things hurt. Cutting the grass and picking up fallen pine cones in my yard makes me sore for a couple days. It’s annoying. Suddenly it seems like I have an awful lot of doctor’s appointments on my calendar. I own a blood pressure taking machine, for crying out loud.

Then there are the surprising ambushes that life throws your way, little reminders of how fast time rushes by. Like last night, for instance. 

I found myself in a crowd of wonderful people at my niece’s house where we had gathered to celebrate her son’s 16th birthday. My great nephew. I remember when he was born. I remember when he was an annoying toddler. Now he’s mostly no longer annoying. Instead he’s tall, handsome and smart. When did all of this happen? How is it possible that I even have great nephews and nieces, one of which is heading off to college in five days, another of which suddenly has obtained a…boyfriend? I am now the grand uncle of…grown adults. How is this even possible? I watched them all eating ice cream cake. I looked at my grown nieces and tried to remember what it felt like to hold them when they were babies and thought how quickly life races along.

I’m a grandfather now, aging’s fabulous consolation. I’m also retired, finally free from the pressures of earning a living. Waking up each day to a new ache or pain is annoying as hell, but there are benefits to having not yet assumed room temperature. I get to watch my grandson grow up. I get to help my kids however they need me to help them. I get to be generous whenever an opportunity to be so presents itself. I get to be the person Mr. Rogers used to tell my kids to look for.

I get to be a helper.