When I graduated from high school, I suddenly became aware that I was becoming an adult. When I got married, I realized I’d just graduated again to the next “phase” of my existence. Then came fatherhood, another welcome step.
It wasn’t until I retired from active fast-pitch softball that my phases began to coax the melancholy out of me. That happens, I guess, when you get to a certain age. Suddenly, the life stages that you enter are not as much fun as the stages you entered when you were young.
After a while, most of us learn to accept our situations. When my men’s fast-pitch softball career (which began way back in high school) finally ended at the age of 55, I felt cheated that the best time of my life had escaped me too quickly.
“Rage, rage against the dying of the light” was my mantra. Now too old to play ball with the twentysomethings, I remember the distinct impression that I had just officially entered middle age. And although I was easily aware that there are good things about it — like having fun with the grandkids — I also knew that a very important part of me had flown away like a bird going South for the winter.
More than four years later now, on the cusp of 60 and feeling as if “old age” is rapidly approaching, I am beginning to feel more accepting. My middle daughter Kari has been reminding me that the men’s national tournament will be getting under way later this month in her city, North Mankato, and she wants to watch some of the games with me. I’m inclined to watch, which is a sign of progress. I think I can do it without burning up inside over the fact that I’ve become a spectator and not a player.
I see other signs of progress, too.
A couple of weekends ago, my wife and I pulled up stakes and moved across Worthington into a condo on the eastern side. At our house on the other side of town, most of my fast-pitch souvenirs — plaques and ribbons from state and national tournaments, and a large shadow box celebrating my career that Kari had made for me one Christmas — were prominently displayed in a favorite office/bedroom. I decided upon moving that that stuff will be now be displayed instead in the garage.
I wonder how old I’ll be when I decide I no longer need to display them anywhere … when I wrap them up in paper towels and place them in a box.
Yeah, it’s not always fun to pass into middle/old age. But I think my friends were probably right when they told me it sure beats the alternative.