Lost In The Fifties

 And I aint talking about the Ronnie Milsap song, either. ) 

If you’re like me, there was once a time in your young life when you couldn’t wait to get older because, well, I was a fucking idiot.

I say that because, along with what our young, ignorant minds imagined would be amazing, there was something we couldn’t envision: The aches, pains and more that come with middle age. 

By most accounts, “middle age” is defined as the period between forty and sixty years old. Google says, “…though this range has shifted upward over time due to increased life expectancy, improved health, and later retirement.”

Sixty five years old is middle aged? Yeah, if you’re a friggin’ Galapagos Tortise maybe. The average life expectancy for men in America is about seventy five, which is depressing enough, but if we cut that in half, as the word “middle” would imply, that means our middle ages begin at age thirty eight. I’ll be fifty two in June, so I’m nearly a decade and a half past that. 

Good God…

Do you remember when schools would separate the girls from the boys into two classrooms and the teachers would awkwardly do a lesson on sex education? They did that with us in sixth grade, though nowadays they probably do it around kindergarten, if they do it at all. Maybe some places just hand out one of those What’s Happening To My Body books or something and call it good.

Anyway, I feel like we need to have one of those manuals for people as reach middle age. Although not at age thirty eight, because I feel like there’s still enough piss and vinegar running through the veins that it’d be pearls before swine. 

I suggest waiting until age fifty. Because that’s when the body once again begins to do weird shit. For example:

Hair 

This one attacks not as single spies but in battlions. It often begins with graying hair, which, when it’s on your head isn’t a big deal really. At least not for most men. Some guys actually like it, feeling like it lends a somewhat dignified, wisened look. I can’t speak to that myself, since I keep my hair buzzed close to the scalp ( more on that in a minute ) so I’ve Inadvertently managed to hide that effect of getting older. Not that I care really, however it’s the stray grays on my chest that have caused me some consternation. 

Then there’s the hair that sprouts from one’s nose and ears, seemingly overnight. A lot of men seem to ignore this, which is both disturbing as well as needless. A good trimmer will take care of that, though it’s about as easy to keep up with as my lawn in late spring. The eyebrows tend to sneak up on you as well. One day you’re looking normal, or what passes for it, the next you look like Peppy the owl on a bag of Wise potato chips. 

While some will begin to experience male pattern baldness, men in my family appear to have been genetically blessed in the hair department. Probably to make up for the fact our hearts begin to consider retirement much earlier than many.

I recently got a notion that, after twenty years of keeping my hair buzzed short, I would grow it out. That venture never got off the ground for two reasons. One, you have to go through a period where your head looks like a giant fuzzball until the hair grows in enough to lay flat. I don’t have the patience for that. But secondly, a section of the hair on the back of my head apparently decided somewhere along the lines that it wasn’t coming back after all these years. Meaning, I have what I guess is male pattern baldness, but in a different pattern than usual. 

It probably took a full time positon on my ears, nose and eyebrows. 

Pain

I’m familiar with the jokes about blowing out your back because you sneezed, but I aint laughing. That’s because it hits a little too close to home.

Neither myself or time have been good to my lower back. A car accident followed by years of work that involved lifting heavy things like feed sacks, fat people, logs, etc. have left me with a back that I have to be more careful with. I can still function, I just have to remember my limits is all. Which is something I’ve gotten used to. Usually.

What I haven’t gotten used to is the pain that just pops up out of nowhere. Like, you wake up one morning well rested since you only got up once to piss last night (again, more… minute), and your ankle is like, “Screw you, pal, we’re limping today,” without rhyme or reason.

Don’t even get me going about the bruises that seem to appear from nowhere. A conversation you’ll hear occasionally in our house goes like this:”

“Oh look, a bruise.”

“How’d you get that?”

“Damned if I know.” 

Sometimes I feel l ike the half-lady zombie in the 1985 movie, Return of the Living Dead ( which, by the way, scared the hell out of me as a kid and cemented my refusal watch anything involving zombies to this day ). Some days, it’s as if I can feel myself rotting. 

Speaking of pain and corpses, nothing beats the excitement of a twinge of pain in one’s chest, which becomes an inpromptu game of “Reflux or R.I.P.?” where the grand prize is either a burp, beta-blockers, or burial. 

Plumbing 

I’ll spare you the deep dive into this topic, but suffice it to say that one day you’re relieving yourself without a second thought and the next your body seems to be having second thoughts when you’re standing over the porcelain. Me, I’ve always had a “hamster bladder,” seemingly urinating round the clock. But as time goes on, nature adds a new difficulty level for the guys which means while the the plumbing says it’s ready, NOW, there’s a little more hesitancy. Which leaves you standing there like Butters on South Park convincing your bladder it’s okay to let go.

Of course, the plumbing issues that come with age affect the sexes differently. Perhaps I should be grateful I can cough or sneeze without pissing myself and call it a win.

In Conclusion…

I suppose theres some upsides to aging besides faster service because you’re eating supper at four o’clock in the afternoon. With less calendar days ahead of you comes the wisdom of knowing what truly matters in life and what doesn’t. You wake up grateful to once again find yourself on this side of the sod. You jump up from bed  remember to sit on the edge of the bed a minute, get your bearings, then stand up and shuffle off to make the most of the day. 

Because unlike the passing of water, the sands of time flow faster than a trickle.