I have to face the fact that I have become my father. Speaking of which, that’s him in the photo above on the right, tobbogan hat and red plaid flannel shirt, hoisting a Flastaff. I posted this photo for two reasons: an intro to my thoughts today…and a teaser for the future. I will share the details of the picture in an upcoming post. Be forewarned, or filled with anticipation, but it will be a bit “rough, vulgar and revealing.” If you don’t want to read “swear” words and have your image of certain people crushed, then don’t read the future installment called, “Free to be me.”
I spent the morning tinkering with my motorcycles. I took the GPS mount off of my Street Triple and put in on the Vstrom. Pretty simple job. When I was done, I came into the kitchen where my wife was cooking. As I reached into the fridge for a bottled water, she said, “You are bleeding.” Huh? What? Where? She pointed it out and I looked at my forearm. Sure enough, a couple long scratches and a scrape, all pooled with blood about ready to drip to the floor. Never even noticed. They were minor, as you can see, but the first thing that came to my mind was my dad.
My dad was about 33 years older than me, so in the photo above (that’s my cousin Tom in the photo, not me), he would have been mid-40’s. If he had grown up in my generation, where we put a name or affix a disease to every human trait, he would have been labelled a “workaholic.” If he wasn’t at work, he was home working. And it seemed that every time he went outside to work, he would come back with scrapes, cuts and blood all over his arms. So, when I say “I am my father,” I mean I am at that age when:
1. Every time I do something, I get cut and bleed.
2. If I grow facial hair, I immediately look 15 years older.
3. If I lose weight (and I need to), I look 15 years older or like I have a terminal disease
4. Women in their twenties think I’m gross or pervy, or both.
5. Women in their thirties think I remind them of their dad.
6. Women in their forties, well, my wife is in her forties, so maybe, just maybe I’m not “one foot in the grave” to all women in their forties, but probably to most of them. Hopefully not to my wife!
7. Women in their fifties, they just don’t care.
8. I am not the center of the universe anymore…technology and life values now belong to the generations following me.
9. My youngest daughter and I have just about the same age separation as my father and I did…and I’m pretty sure I’m just a nuisance to her!
It’s not all bad though:
1. My grandchildren think I’m cool and fun!
2. I can get away with being an “old bastard” if I want to…it’s what people expect!
3. I don’t have little children, so I can pretty much do anything I want, almost any time I want.
4. I can retire in a few years, and I still have a pension plan.
5. I get a kick out of dismounting my sporty Triumph Street Triple after strafing some corners or other such hooliganism, pull off my helmet to expose my gray hair and wrinkles, only to see the look of either surprise or disappointment in the face of those nearby. “You were expecting Brad Pitt?” Oh wait, even he’s turning into an old man…only 3 years younger than me. No comparisons please!