The other day as I bounded out of the cab of my truck at the state park dump station, an old man in an older RV in the other lane walked over to say 'howdy'. I tend to be jovial in nature with a smile that invites conversation:
"How you doin, Son?", it started. (I'm seventy.) The jest of the conversation was that he was 87 and still behind the wheel, enjoying life, and from all appearances doing pretty good.
Our conversation germinated the seed that I didn't want to see grow. You see I am a 'driver'; always have been, and I suspect I will always enjoy being on the road hammering down the asphalt from point A to point B. In my own mind I am only 23, just trapped in an old man's body. But the old gentleman forced me to consider when I'll have to get out from behind the wheel?
After retiring, some of us begin to question our mortality, perhaps become more spiritual, work on genealogy, and spend more time with the grand-kids trying to impart some desireable family traits and knowledge into the furtile little minds. I've done all of this but the most chilling and difficult thing that I have been forced to recognize and confront is that one day I will not be able to safely sit behind the wheel. For one reason or another Jennifer will take over my job and I'll just sit in the passenger seat, nap and drool, and wonder where the hell we are.
And so I am forced to ask a question of my older friends: Are you taking better care of your truck than yourself? Are you still on the road, and how old are you?
- Ed
"How you doin, Son?", it started. (I'm seventy.) The jest of the conversation was that he was 87 and still behind the wheel, enjoying life, and from all appearances doing pretty good.
Our conversation germinated the seed that I didn't want to see grow. You see I am a 'driver'; always have been, and I suspect I will always enjoy being on the road hammering down the asphalt from point A to point B. In my own mind I am only 23, just trapped in an old man's body. But the old gentleman forced me to consider when I'll have to get out from behind the wheel?
After retiring, some of us begin to question our mortality, perhaps become more spiritual, work on genealogy, and spend more time with the grand-kids trying to impart some desireable family traits and knowledge into the furtile little minds. I've done all of this but the most chilling and difficult thing that I have been forced to recognize and confront is that one day I will not be able to safely sit behind the wheel. For one reason or another Jennifer will take over my job and I'll just sit in the passenger seat, nap and drool, and wonder where the hell we are.
And so I am forced to ask a question of my older friends: Are you taking better care of your truck than yourself? Are you still on the road, and how old are you?
- Ed