Old Dads

Turning 35 today has prompted me to reflect a bit on the prospects of growing old. That isn't to suggest that I needed a landmark day like this to dwell on getting old. It is, in fact, something that I think about quite often. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think something along the line of "Christ, I can't believe I've nearly DOUBLED the number of years it took me to get to the point where I graduated from high school" or "I've known my wife for almost HALF my life now!" Or any of a number of other age-based observations involving basic maths. Then, of course, there is the math that goes the other direction. "I'm halfway to 70! Holy shit!" or "In the same number of years that it's been since I graduated from college, I'll be almost 50! And college seems like it was just a few years back!"

No, those thoughts I have most days--especially late at night when I'm not sleeping in my bed. Possibly this is a contributing factor to why I have troubles getting to sleep.

No, today I reflecteded on the notion of being an "old dad." Growing up, we all knew an old dad or two. They were the ones who either had a "surprise" child ten years after their last kid or who'd been siring babes on a bi-annual basis for the last twenty years or so. Almost never was it a first time dad who'd just been waiting until his thirties to start having kids. At least not where I grew up. Where I grew up, people started popping out the rugrats before they were 25 or people started to look at them strange.

These old dads of my youth were a curiosity. Sitting in the bleachers at a softball game or showing up for a kid's school play, they always looked out of sorts. They weren't the oldest people in the crowd, to be sure, since grandparents were always there, but they never fit in with the younger parents either. They were, in effect, suffering from a generation gap with all of the other parents there, and their discomfort was usually obvious, even to me when I was growing up. Not because I was especially astute, but because it would have been difficult NOT to notice them, sitting by themselves or with only the company of their spouse, looking entirely out of place--like a . . . dude who's about 15 years older than his contemporaries. I tried to come up with some witty or colorful simile there, but my brain just isn't firing very creatively these days. One of the disadvantages of being an old dad, I suppose. I rather lack the mental fortitude to sleep only a pinch of hours then dazzle with my mental finesse. C'est la vie.

Anyway, it has dawned on me more than once that I will be one of these old dads. Maybe not AS old, but still old. While some dads, still in their 20s, will be running around playing football or whatever with their kids, I will be wheezing and vigorously trying to massage the knots out of my back or neck should I be so bold as to attempt any sports activities. While the young fathers at the school events cluster to discuss their new, hip gadgets or make plans to hit the bars whenever the kids go to sleep, I will be wheezing and vigorously trying to massage the knots out of my back and neck still off to the side.

On top of this, I have friends who, at about my same age in their mid to late 30s, have kids who are heading off to college--or who have already headed that way. Now, still almost young enough to enjoy themselves, they will have something that resembles their freedom returned to them. Then I consider when I might have my freedom returned, and the math inevitably lands me in my early 50s--just after I've joined AARP, well before we can actually retire, and WAY after I'm young enough to enjoy a fast-paced lifestyle. I won't care that I can once again stay up until midnight with impunity since I'll be eating the early bird special at Hometown Buffet, watching a bit of the 6:00 news, then retiring for the evening with my copy of "Bridges of Madison County" and a glass of warm prune juice.

At least, these are my worst case scenario musings.

Then I consider the fact that parents have been waiting longer and longer to have kids all over the country--so odds are strong that at least a FEW of my peers at the kids' events will be near my age. And many of them might actually have similar stories--they too waited until they could actually support kids comfortably, and had several years to enjoy the company of their spouses to boot, before diving into the whirlpool of child rearing.

At the very least, maybe we can thoughtfully exchange tubes of Icy Hot while we cast sideways glances at the young "fools" who have to plan their bar nights around the schedules of their children.