Becoming the Old Guy

By G. E. Shuman

          A few days ago, I and many of my family members departed Vermont and New Hampshire for a weeklong vacation in the sunny South.

          I remember taking trips like this when Lorna and I were first married. Maybe not to a place so far away, but with my parents, the ‘generation before’ us people, and some of our little kids, who have now become grownups in the ‘first generation after’ us people category. Confused yet?

          The ‘second generation after us’ people are also represented in our group this week, with nine of our twelve grandkids being with us, and even the ‘third generation after us,’ with our almost two-year-old granddaughter and her yet unborn little sister here. Wow! Confused now?

          I remember traveling or visiting with my parents or my wife’s parents and chuckling a bit about their big bag of prescription medicines and their habit of falling asleep for a while in the afternoon. That always seemed funny to me.

          Last weekend, as we were packing for our trip, Lorna said to me: “Did you pack your pills?” (Like I need those stupid pills.)

          “Yes, Dear”, I replied, although I don’t know if I said the word Dear. Probably not.

          “And your nighttime pills and eye drops?”

          “Yes, I did.” (My dad probably used to say the same to my mom.)

          We began the trip on Saturday morning, planning to drive about ten hours and do the remaining few hours on Sunday. I, of course, wanted to drive, (After all, I’m the husband and the man.) even though my wife and daughter were perfectly willing and able to help.

          Let me tell you. By the time we arrived at our hotel at 9pm I was certain I was going to die. My eyes hurt, my face was red, my heart was racing, my hands were shaking, and my gut felt like it had been run over by a cement truck. I think I also had a fever. I just had to get to that bed asap and hoped it wasn’t my death bed. As I lay there, all I could figure out is that something must have changed about driving on the highway since my last long trip several years ago. Somehow it got a lot harder. Maybe the roads are different now. I don’t know.  What I DO know is that the following morning when we went to the car I just got in the back seat with my coffee and my granddaughter and didn’t care at all about who else did the driving.

          We’ve been at a beautiful Outer Banks beach house for three days at this writing, and I am now completely recovered and relaxed, finally. My very well-meaning adult kids and my grandkids all seem sensitive this week, maybe a bit too much, about my wellbeing. (I think they’ve been talking.)  “Can I get that for you Grampy?” “Hi Dad, how ya feeling today?” “Watch your step when you’re walking up the sand dune. Stop and take a break if you need to.”  (As if I would need to or do that even if I DID need to.)  Those last two comments were from my very observant second child who happens to be a nurse. So, what would she know? 

          It’s afternoon now. I just got up from resting on a lounge chair on the front deck and feel like it’s time for a nap. There’s something about being at the ocean that makes me tired, especially these past few years. Maybe they have changed things about the ocean too.

          On the bright side, I once read a comment somewhere that said: “The good thing about growing older is that no one expects you to do anything.” That sounded pretty good to me. I’m beginning to ‘resemble’ that remark, as they say, so I might as well embrace it, at least a little.

          Perhaps becoming the old guy isn’t such a bad spot to find yourself in, after all.

         

I Don’t Hate People, Really

By G. E. Shuman

          Have you ever simply felt really frustrated with people? (Unnecessary question, I know.) I mean, have you ever wondered why so many of them say and do all the stupid things that they do? Have you ever just wanted to take a long walk down the road, alone, and not stop walking? Have you ever felt like some people are so self-centered and rude that you’d like to slap them silly just to wake them up before you strangled them? Ugh! Well, if you have ever experienced any of these feelings, welcome to my club.

          You know, I consider myself to be a friendly guy, a guy who can tolerate and has tolerated a lot in life. I love my wife and family more than I could ever say, and, best of all (or worst of all for my attitude right now) I’m a Christian and know that we are commanded by God to love everybody. That’s right, everybody. Ugh, again!

          That last point has always been a tough one for me, and one I have a lot of work to do to accomplish. Strange as it may seem after what you have read here so far, I really am trying to love people and not get so frustrated by some of them, to the point that I have all but stopped watching the news. That’s right. And don’t tell me that the news isn’t frustrating.  It’s all bad news all the time anyway, about all the bad and all the stupid things that all the people do, especially the people in Washington D.C. This country would be a lot better off without politicians; that’s something I think most of us can agree on. I think that the least we should do is to delete them all and reboot.  How refreshing would that be, huh?

          Still, I really am trying to behave myself and love others more. I have bitten my tongue so many times when I’ve felt like committing verbal assault that I can hardly taste food anymore, and I’ve walked away from boastful blabbering bozos so many times that I don’t need my treadmill anymore. (Okay, so, I do still need the treadmill. That’s not really the point.) 

          Still, half of the conversations that I overhear in public places, especially in local restaurants, are simply the products of one person telling their captive lunch mates how much they know about something. (Those conversations aren’t overheard on purpose. They’re overheard because of the decibel level of that person’s voice, and the fact that I can’t leave because I’ve already ordered my food.)

          Be honest, you’ve been there too. And, to that lady in the next booth the other day who ruined my nice conversation with my wife by relating to her very tolerant lunch companion just how much she knows about something, (I have no idea what, and that’s not important.) all I can say is, please try not to speak, especially that loudly, ever again. There was and will be no one in that restaurant, ever, who wants to make you famous for your genius take on the world of that subject, whatever it was, so you don’t need to broadcast it and rattle the windows.) There, see how understanding I can be?

          Truthfully, honestly, I don’t actually hate people. (I will keep telling myself that for the rest of my life.) I just don’t understand a lot of them. That selfish person who cut me off in the intersection the other day, (I wonder what he did with his extra three seconds.) that verbally filter-less lady who just can’t seem to help saying every single thing that pops into her brain and a few things that don’t, that selfish young man who pushed his cart in front of my wife’s cart in that busy checkout line, are not so different from me. (It really hurts to admit that.) They have their problems, and so do I. It’s the old, supposedly Native American adage of not judging another person until you have walked a mile in his moccasins. (That way, if you have made him angry, he’s a mile away and barefoot.)  Sorry, I couldn’t resist adding that.

          The other day a good friend of ours was chatting with us about some of the foibles that people seem to have and offered a bit of wisdom on the subject that lowered my blood pressure a little, I think. I hope I will always remember it. She said: “Everybody has their own little bag of rocks, and they’re all different.” (Thank you Sandra.)