Don't Wait

Don't Wait

I don’t know about you but this 60^th birthday we all share rattled my cage just a bit. None of the others has. I never even slowed passing 30; 40 got barely a sideways glance; and I was just too busy to pay much attention to 50. I was 55 before I realized I forgot to have my well-deserved midlife crisis. But 60. Gosh, it just sounds old.

When I look back, and I do that often lately, I wonder where the decades have gone. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not whining. Eagles don’t whine. And truthfully, I have very few regrets. I have had a wonderful and blessed life, and I’m optimistic that some of my best years lie ahead. But 60. Come on, man, that age is reserved for old geezers. And I just don’t feel old.

Inside, I am still that 18-year-old who just can’t wait for the burning of the Indian, the Sweetheart Dance, and Twerp Week. Well maybe I could have done without that nerve-racking Twerp Week, scared to death that I would be the only guy in the Class of ‘70 sitting home. Alas, pity was taken on me, and I got twerped. 

I am fortunate by so many methods of measurement. I have a wonderful wife, Joan, of almost 31 years who lets me act as if I make the decisions, two sons, and three of the most wonderful grandmonsters (a term lent to me by my good friend Doc McKinney). I’ve never spent a day in the hospital, never broken a bone, and except the spare tire that seems to have permanently lodged around my middle, I’m in good health.

Then, there are you, my friends. I have no idea what possessed me to just after our 40^th reunion and begin to build this website. But it has done more for me than I could ever put in words. I have been told by so many how much they appreciate the website; but if the truth is told, I should be thanking you. Through that marvelous piece of cyber wizardry known as the Internet, the invisible pipe delivering preaching and porn, allowing you to bid on eBay and buy a book, so many of us have reconnected, and for that, I am so grateful. After 40 years being just fine without contact with most of you, I find it hard for a month to go by without a call to a couple of dozen of you, just to say hi and see what is shaking in your life. And I truly miss so many of our classmates who are gone. I wish they could share in this resurgence of Eagle Pride.

This year, we at the Parker house began a new chapter in our lives when my mother and father, Doris and Richard Sr., moved in with Joan and me. It was just that time. It has been wonderful to have them, and I am so thankful they have shared 63 years as husband and wife. They are so cute together, still taking care of each other after six decades. It gives me something for which to shoot.

But through this transition, I’ve seen how difficult even the little things have become for them, which has crystallized my commitment to live my life and not to put things off.

Today, I’m reading and writing more and cleaning the garage less. I'm happy to sit in the swing in my backyard throwing the ball to one very happy beagle, without worrying a bit about the weeds creeping through the dark Florida sand. I'm finding it more difficult to put in 12- and 16-hour days and easier spending time with my family and friends.

I believe that we should learn to breathe more deeply and savor our lives instead of enduring it. I am working hard to recognize the nuggets of life that come my way and cherish them to the max. And if the mood hits me, I have no problem breaking into my own special version of Iron Butterfly’s “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” straight from the 60s and complete with a few dance steps that would make a young rapper green with envy.

I want to use the good china even it is for lunch on a Wednesday, even if we’re having a grilled cheese sandwich. I question why we have saved that china for 30 years stacked neatly in the cabinet under halogen lights. After all, I know in my heart of hearts that the kids will have those shiny plates piled on a table at the big garage sale barely three days after my funeral, so who cares if a plate or two has a chip.

I'm not "saving" anything that can make me feel even a bit better and enjoy my life a tiny bit more. I’m burning the good candles, wearing my nice sport jacket to the grocery store, and smiling while I do it. Maybe if I look successful, it will make paying $100 that Publix demands for a bag of food a bit easier to swallow.

I’m permanently removing from my well-honed Southern vocabulary “when I get some time” and “someday I gonna.” If it is something I want to do, then by golly, now seems like a darn good time to do it; I’ve waited long enough. 

Since building our website, I’ve thought often about our classmates in the “In Memory” section. If they could come back just for a day, I wonder how they would spend that single last day. Well, my friend, I want to live that day—every day.

Country recording artist Tim McGraw sang a song called “Live Like You Were Dying,” and it really packs a powerful message.

He said: "I was in my early forties,
"With a lot of life before me,
"An' a moment came that stopped me on a dime.
"I spent most of the next days,
"Looking at the x-rays,
"An' talking 'bout the options an' talkin’ ‘bout sweet time."
I asked him when it sank in,
That this might really be the real end?
How’s it hit you when you get that kind of news?
Man whatcha do?

An' he said: "I went sky diving, I went rocky mountain climbing,
"I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu.
"And I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter,
"And I gave forgiveness I'd been denying."
An' he said: "Some day, I hope you get the chance,
"To live like you were dyin'."
Maybe that is the prize in the box of Cracker Jacks for all of us pudgy, graying 60-year-olds—a prize we should grab and hold on to for dear life. No, I’m not talking about jumping out of a perfectly good airplane on purpose, and it is a safe bet that you will not see me climbing on the back of a 2,000-lb. bull even if he does have a cute name like Fu Man Chu. But, I like the sound of loving deeper and speaking a bit sweeter and giving, and, I hope, receiving a bit of forgiveness up to now denied.

If I had a crystal ball and knew my life was down to hours, I’d be a bit pissed off. No, not about the end of this long and winding road, because I am prepared for that and know my next stop is assured. But my pissed-offness would come from the things I’ve left undone, unsaid, and untried. What would bother me the most are the calls I did not take the time to make, the thanks I neglected to utter, and the helping hand I did not offer.

Hey, but here is some good news. I doubt that bucket will be kicked this month, and I hope no time soon. So, we still have time. We might be 60, but baby, we ain’t dead yet. And I intend not to put off those things I want to do any longer. I want to laugh, and cry and listen and talk and, yes, I want to dance. And I want to do them all with my wife, my family, my friends, and yes, that means you—the oldest friends I have. Because like it or not, we are all family, a family that for some of us goes back 50 or more years.

So, I dare you to put nothing off. Pick up your phone and call someone you meant to call and say what you meant to say. Write your unwritten letters. Get up from this computer now, and if you are fortunate enough to be with the love of your life, tell him or her what he or she means to you. Hold nothing back; save nothing—use the good china and enjoy every minute of it. Because these minutes are truly a gift from God and such an important gift should not be squandered, my friends.
I once read that a true friend will hold your hand in times of need. I see that a bit differently. I don’t think a true friend needs to hold your hand; they just need to let you know that helping hand is always there for you.

I’m not going to worry about what others think or say. If I can’t change it, I will let it go.

I know I forget things—many things. But you know something? Life throws many things at us worth forgetting. And I know if it is important enough, sooner or later, I’ll remember it. Now, where did I put my car keys?

I’m OK with my salt-and-pepper hair and beard becoming much more salt than pepper. I just happy to have hair. (I love you, Mitch.)
I am at peace with what gravity has done to my body. Although it has pulled and stretched some body parts a bit more south than I ever thought they could be stretched, I am still high-steppin’ six feet above casket level, so it is all good.

When I look into the mirror, it is difficult not to notice the youth of the ‘60s has been replaced with a more distinguished Southern gentleman that some might just call old. But with this age has also come a side order of wisdom, much gained from trial and error accompanied by periodic flashes of intense pain. Ouch, I won’t do that again.

Through that pain-laced wisdom, I’ve learned some cornerstone truths, such as all puppies grow up, but not all kids; the cheapest and most expensive are usually both bad deals; announcing a fire is the only time that yelling doesn’t make things worse; no one has it all figured out; knowledge is belief and nothing more; nothing is free if it takes time. Last, I’ve learned that there is a God… and I’m not Him.

So, when I stop and think about it, turning 60 beats the heck out of the alternative. And my life could surely be much worse. So, though life is not always a party… we might as well dance.
Keepin’ the Spirit Alive,
Richard Parker