I’m worried. Although by nature not one to fret over stuff I’ve no control over, there have been recent incidents that have brought some things to my attention worthy of consternation. I had been gliding along, basking merrily in what my pea brain told me was middle age but that has suddenly changed and it happened in the blink of an eye.

Not too long ago a church friend of mine called and asked if I would consider giving a testimony on an upcoming Sunday, and I said sure. It would have probably been more appropriate for me to do a full public confession, which might well have resulted in a scandal but I’ll leave that for another time. Regardless, I made plans to speak and in the process discovered that my testimony was to be given on Senior Adult Sunday. I was stunned that my friend had the unmitigated gall to put me in that category and I immediately went into a funk. If you are unsure of what I mean by that term here is a succinct explanation. “Funk” is a modern-day word indicating a depressed state of mind.

So, in a flash, I graduated from middle age to old age, and it sent me into protracted state of funkiness.

The arrival of becoming a member of the “old” category clearly explained some strange things that had been happening to me in recent months. I’ve had trouble casting my fishing lures where I’m aiming. This is not only cause for alarm but also subjects me to hooting laughter of my fishing partners when my bait winds up being fired into overhanging trees. I’ve also noticed that I cannot for the life of me break 80 in golf anymore, can’t hike uphill for any length of time, and if I tried to leg out an infield hit I’d probably pull both hamstrings instantly and permanently.

That’s not all. I used to be able to ride a bicycle up and down large hills but currently I can only go downhill. I have to push it back up the grade. Another thing that bothers me is that I cannot hit what I aim at with my shotgun. Not only can I not hit it, I can’t half see it, which is normally a pre-requisite to accurate shooting.

I thought all these things were just anomalies but I now fear these are chronic shortcomings rather than just blips on the radar. I didn’t realize that I had graduated into senior adulthood and that fact clearly explains the problems I’ve been having with my hand-eye coordination and lung capacity. On the other hand it also gives me a built-in excuse when my endeavors end up in failure.

I really wish I could be more like my hero father. He’s well into his eighth decade and has the constitution of an angus bull. I’d be scared to stand beside him and work all day for fear that he would put me to shame. He’s constantly planting, harvesting, shoveling, or tearing something down and has been discovered in recent days on top of the roof repairing shingles. The simple truth is that I can’t hang with him. Of course he’s a member of the Greatest Generation that grew up when times were much harder and as a result is far tougher than those 20 or 30 years his junior. Comparatively, I’m a member of the air-conditioning/potato chip eating generation, which ultimately results in the early onset of senior adulthood.

Of course Daddy has the occasional minor mishap. During the fading days of last summer he was wading around in our pond knee-deep in mud scooping up dead fish following a fish kill and got stuck. His efforts to un-stick himself resulted in a back flip into the muck, but those instances are rare. Mostly he just continues to make senior adults like me feel really bad.

I suppose that the upshot of all this is that I need to get my mind right and forge ahead. After all, I’m not a guy who worries about stuff that can’t be controlled and the aging process certainly falls into that category. What I need to do is train my mind to think young and, as the advertisement says, “Just do it.” I hope that philosophy does not result in debilitating bodily injuries.

I asked Daddy how he handles getting older and his sage advice was simply, “No matter what you do it just gets worse.”  

This coming from the angus bull himself. 

I wish my friend had never called me to speak at church. It has caused me a good deal of negative thinking and much gnashing of teeth. As a result y’all will have to excuse me now because I’ve got to start my new training regimen. The plan is to follow Daddy around every day for the next month and hope I don’t fall dead from exhaustion. If through some miracle I happen to live through it I’ll let you know how it goes but I fear that Daddy is right — no matter what you do it only gets worse.

And that is cause for consternation.

Email your senior conditioning advice to dar8589@bellsouth.net