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.