Posted by
Raymond Becket on Thursday, September 21, 2006 5:51:17 PM
I had always hoped I would age much as a fine wine or a piece of antique furniture might, with dignity and appreciation. Alas the maturing process in my case is not dissimilar to that of an AMC Gremlin or a ‘64 Pinto. My “best used before date” is rapidly approaching it seems as my once thick head of hair takes on the appearance of those ragged landau tops one sees on older model Cutlass Supremes. At least I still have the good sense to wear my remaining few follicles George Clooney short, thereby avoiding the temptation to try a potentially disastrous comb over. My youthful skin and muscle tone has given way to the perpetual sloppiness of shock absorbers with way too many miles on them and about the only thing that seems to be working well are my brakes. They must be, I appear to be slowing to a near stop. The days of burning the candle at both ends are a distant memory as evidenced by a recent birthday bacchanalia that consisted of a quiet dinner for seven. But with age comes the rewards of grand children. The sight, sound and smell of a small child in the house rekindle memories almost lost with the passing of time. It is quite surprising how like his mother was, our infant grandson is. Uncanny really. The sight of his tiny hands and feet, so perfectly formed, bring back recollections of so long ago. We were awestruck then and we are once again as we appreciate the breathtaking beauty of an innocent newborn. We wonder what can he possibly be thinking as he smiles in his sleep, has he been here before? Awake, his little eyes try to focus on the doting faces in the room, what does he see? I don’t know, but his great grandparents, grandparents and parents see a perfectly beautiful child. Aging, it seems, really isn’t so bad after all.