Photograph

It’s a funny thing growing older. The other day I found a recent photograph of my ex-wife on the net. I was taken aback. My memory of her was how she looked when we split up back in 1978. She was about 24 and still under warranty. But I couldn’t help but think who is this old broad?

This was a stupid response, of course, and my apologies to my ex-wife if she ever stumbles across this blog. Hell, if anyone looks old, it’s me. I can’t bear to look at a photograph of myself. That’s why the photo on my profile is my granddaughter, Brooke. Maybe I was thinking you’d see me through her or some sort of liberal bullshit like that.

Growing older is as natural as a 20-year-old trade-in. It happens to everyone eventually. But I am genuinely shocked at how old I’ve become. I remember my first day at Hayward Ford like it was yesterday. They used to call me, “summer help”. Now all of a sudden I’m 11 months shy of 60! Something has gone seriously wrong!

I’m not one of those types of people who will say yeah, I’m 59, but inside I’m still 20. I’m 59 all right. I’ve got the aches and pains and high blood pressure to prove it. But I think I’m still pretty alert and conscious of the world around me. I haven’t yet retreated to a gated retirement community, a Buick LeSabre and the comfort of being a member of the AARP. At least give me credit for that.

But it bothers me that I have told young salesmen about my blog, written down the address on my business card and asked them to check it out. None of them ever has. That makes me wonder about how I am perceived by them. It makes me question my relevancy. Would they even understand the blog if they did read it? Is everyone reading this blog like me, an old fart? (I’m not talking about you, Cathy in Canada.)

I’d like to have a photo of myself for the blog. I asked my daughter to take a couple the other day. I didn’t like the results. Graying hair and a nearly white beard. I wasn’t that good looking on my best day and now—forget about it!

I think I need someone to take a photo of me with my Giants cap on. That would give me a kind of weird old guy I don’t give a crap look. Back in the day when I was writing fiction, I used to joke with a friend about having a photo of me in my author pose. You know, tweed jacket with patches on the elbows, glasses off but poised artfully to the side of my face. That serious look that says, “I know more than you do”.

I should have had that picture taken when my hair and beard were a little darker and the bags below my Portuguese eyes were not so prominent. It would come in handy now. It would give gravitas to the blog and make people wonder at my wit and wisdom.

Someday I will post a photograph. Some loved one will catch me at a moment when I don’t look too bad. Someday my ex-wife will be cruising the net and find it. Her head will jerk back from the monitor and she will say to herself, how did that jerk I made the mistake of marrying get so old? And that, my friends, will be a very appropriate question.


Talk to you later,


David

P.S. Still working on that trade-in piece. It’s putting up a fight, but I’ll wrestle it to the ground eventually.