Last night was another Boys’ Night Out, an occasional, generally impromptu, casual dinner (or breakfast or lunch) with some of the fellas. We’re all old men now, and to see us today, it’s hard to imagine that we once were so young, brimming with energy, just beginning our adult lives’ adventures.
The subject matter of our gatherings’ discussions has evolved with each passing decade. Today, for example, you’d be more apt to overhear us discussing personal health issues than sex, even sports.
If I sound a bit maudlin today, you could blame the effects of too much wine, but as I looked over the table at two of my oldest friends, I could see that we are a dwindling breed. A.P. was the first of us to go. (Lee followed.) Our friend Bob, who has been battling serious illnesses for years, lately seems resigned to his fate. In my mind, I see more empty chairs becoming available at our table. And accepting that this is the way of the world doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Nobody’s life is regret-free, and mine has been no exception. I’ve experienced plenty of misses. Despite some personal setbacks, I will acknowledge life has been good for me, arguably better than I deserve. For this, I feel lucky and grateful.
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Still, it is hard to ignore the little tells reminding me that my best days might be behind me. I enjoyed healthy, thick hair, but now, when I see my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I vainly observe that my hairline has receded and that my hair appears thinner. I recall how, when my dad was still alive, I used to feign mock shock that I was doomed one day to inherit his old man’s “chicken neck.” I’m not laughing now.
I still like to think I’m fighting the ravages of time by exercising regularly –at least four days out of seven. Yet, despite the effort, my strength has diminished, and my speed, quickness, and balance have all markedly declined. And it takes longer for me to recover from one workout to the next. Sometimes these multiple workouts leave my feet so tender and sore that I want to take the next day off. Robyn tells me I need more supportive shoes. She might be right, but I suspect the issue has more to do with an aging body than aging sneakers.
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I woke up this beautiful morning, glum and kind of hangdog. Our boys’ night out left a slightly bad aftertaste.
Soon enough, however, Lola and I step onto our front porch to take the measure of this new day. The porch is bathed in early morning sunshine. Lola bounds down the stairs into the yard. I sip my first cup of coffee and watch the comings and goings of people on their way to work. A gentle, warm morning breeze full of promise washes over my face. Soon enough, I’m confident today will be a good day. Last night is but a fleeting memory.
