Getting older pretty much sucks
Unless, life began poorly,
a dearth of necessities and nurturing
and general human hardship
improving it over time.
Like me, for instance.
I came into this world
to parents who loved me,
grandmothers who guided me,
siblings who played with me,
eggs for breakfast, grilled cheese for lunch,
hamburger pie or Vince’s spaghetti
for dinner. Lots of cousins, a horse and barn,
oh, and the darn chickens and rabbits,
and even a cow at one point.
It was a pretty miserable beginning.
And then, I had to go to school—
college even. And Europe. I lived there
for awhile. Oh, and I had to parasail
once and scuba dive. It was pretty
awful.
Of course, I then had to get married,
buy a house, raise a kid, adopt a kid,
get dogs and cats, build a career
doing something I loved—see how it’s
all building up to that sucky part?
Now on the eve of 53, I still have
loving parents, a good husband, kids,
and oh, those grandkids, siblings, cousins,
fond memories of those iconic grandmothers,
friends, a bucket full of experiences
that make every day richer—
like seeing Casablanca after studying
the script for a week or cresting
Haleakala after watching the lava
spill of Kilauea.
It’s just lousy.
