Acceptance of growing older while embracing life with positivity, elegance and charm is known as aging gracefully.
It sounds so beautiful and inspiring.
It also sounds nothing like me.
I strive to age gracefully, but I’m aging grumpily.
I have my moments of patience and wisdom to rival Yoda and Dumbledore. Then in the next breath I’m imitating Rocky Balboa’s curmudgeonly manager Mickey.
I used to be Dennis the Menace. The fun-loving scamp. The name on my mailbox now reads Wilson.
I root for Wile E. Coyote where I was once Team Roadrunner.
Years ago, I was sweet Grover. I’m now sour Oscar.
Childish references of grouchy characters. Grouchy and childish. That’s pretty well me these days.
I truly believe I created this persona as a way of keeping my sanity.
Hear me out.
We all only have so much energy, love and time to give. It mustn’t be squandered.
I’m more selective on where I focus my positive energy and I refuse to carry the weight of things that don’t matter and those I can’t control.
The world can be draining and demoralizing if you let it.
Hence the shield to deflect all that’s discouraging and negative.
My inner circle of those who really matter is tight and they get the best of who I am every day.
I’m not completely bitter to the rest of the planet, but I’m protective of who and what is most important to me.
What’s confusing to me is as much as I’m more guarded and stingier with my time and energy, I have a softer spot for anything that tugs on the heartstrings.
I suppose it’s because more than ever I value what’s important to me.
A perfect example is a post that popped up on my newsfeed this week.
It had a silhouette of four kids on their bicycles and the words: At some point in your childhood, you and your friends went outside to play for the last time, and nobody knew it.
That hit home.
I can’t even begin to explain how important my childhood friends were to me. We were entwined in each other’s lives.
In life there are no rewinds, only flashbacks. This is what flashed back to me.
The last day of the school year was the first day of freedom. The sound of the bell ringing to end the day was a like a starter’s pistol going off. You began to pedal your bike and never looked back.
Those friendships were never more deeply rooted than in the summer.
You had weeks of swimming ahead of you. Fishing. Skipping stones. And pooling your grass-cutting money to load up on red licorice and Blue Whales at the corner store.
Friendships were forged over the ancient ceremony of passing the garden hose around for a drink of water.
You’d scour the ditches for extra cash in the form of empty Mountain Dew bottles. All the while you’d be trying to “out curse” the others with swear words you’d heard coming from under the hood of your dad’s truck as he fiddled with the carburetor.
You left the house before breakfast with your ball glove hanging from your handlebars. And you lived by your mother’s hard and fast rule: Be Home Before Dark.
You’d pop into one another’s houses uninvited any time of day or night, fully expecting a prime seat in front of the TV. And to be fed. Their moms were, by extension, also your guardians.
The acre of bush at the edge of town seemed like an endless forest filled with excitement and mysteries. The only things you wouldn’t find amongst the trees were worries of any sort.
I never thought those days would end and I thought we’d be besties for all of eternity. Life took us in different directions, and I never put much thought into it until a Facebook post made it hit home.
I don’t remember the last game we played. Or the last penny candy we devoured. There’s no recollection of a formal goodbye of any sort. Now, decades later it makes me sad.
With two young boys of my own, Dr. Seuss books are a bedtime staple. So let me quote the good doctor, whose wisdom impacts me more than I care to admit.
“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”
In all my gruffness and grumbling, I will always cherish those childhood friendships and memories because though big at the time, they were a tapestry of little things. And as we all know, the little things make all the difference.
That’s a thought that will age gracefully.
Jason Marshall has been a writer and journalist for more than 35 years and is an on-air host and general manager at Valley Heritage Radio just outside of Renfrew, Ontario. And he’s truly a big kid at heart. You can email him anytime at jason@valleyheritageradio.ca
