6:03 A.M. I flipped the light on when I realized some fool had entered our home and was standing in our bathroom. As I began to gain some early morning focus, I wasn’t sure who would be in our bathroom at this early hour looking at himself in the mirror. Why didn’t he run when I entered and turned the light on? And why was He was standing in my spot in front of the sink. There he was. Goon was just staring back at me. He had gray hair. At least what was left of it was gray. Lines were beginning to crack the corners of his eyes and forehead. Another crease slipped across his chin. Funny… these crevices are in the same location as the ones on my Uncle DeWayne’s face. My Papa Patrick’s face had them, too.
Upon closer examination I realized the pre-wrinkling intruder is me. My inspection also indicates the Patrick family genetics are a pretty strong runner in my DNA.
Here I stand. A middle aged man. Or at least that’s what we call 51 year old men in our western society. However, fifty-one is really over the middle mark. I may have longevity DNA in my family, but it’s over halfway to the earthly finish line even if I live four score and twenty. Apparently I get to live some of my remaining time with a bone spur in my foot, a hip that’s beginning to lecture about all the ballgames I was involved in, and now a broken jaw tooth.
It’s become very apparent that time is a thief and a friend of no one. Those are the words my cousin quoted to me recently. She’s more like a sister than a cousin. We’ve always picked on one another and sent email memes or pictures trying to “gross out” one another. We discuss growing up, life, kids, and unfortunately recently have discussed breast cancer. She was involved with a surgery for breast cancer at the same time I was having that broken molar cut out of my jawline. I hated it for her, but looked forward to discussing our pain med reactions at a later time.
As a side note, the only good thing about a surgery is the superb invention of anesthesia and pain killers. I mean, that dope they gave me for the surgery was stellar. I had visions of dogs and cats living in harmony, endless Reese cups, catching a touchdown pass in Allen E. Paulson stadium, sitting with my Nanna and Papa Johnson drinking coffee, drifting down the Savannah River while hauling in a largemouth bass, and my Granny’s Thanksgiving dressing. It was like the threshold of heaven. Apparently video evidence shows that I have diarrhea of the mouth when I get a snoot full of anesthesia. My lovely wife revealed video footage of me introducing myself repeatedly and talking about my daughters and all they are involved in. I told folks I loved them and then began to name people that I work with daily. They had to take me out of the office in a wheelchair, but at least I’m not mean when I get high. Kind of like a hybrid skinnier version of Otis of Mayberry. Luckily I didn’t burst into song like Otis after visiting the Rafe Hollister still. I am, however, trying to write this with a little remaining brain fog going on, so there’s that.
Back to the burglar. Time is robbing us! This time thief brings discussion of things like wrinkles, bone spurs, teeth, and cancer. It brings me pain. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. The thief recently brought me to attend a funeral of a high school teammate and friend. In fact, in the last six months I’ve met up with old classmates and high school buddies at three funerals. Funerals for parents. Funerals for old friends. As another one of my teammates said, “It’s great to see everyone again, but I’m so sick of it being like this.”
Me, too, buddy. It really makes me sad to think of how fast the time has passed. One hot summer day we are lifting weights preparing for football season in a steamy weight room. Another hot summer day we are lifting and carrying the casket of a fallen teammate in a cemetery. One day the guys are sitting around the lunchroom table dissing our parents for being too strict and not letting us go to the lake. Another day we stand with the guys praising our parents tough love as we are lower one of them into the ground and begging God to have just one more day of that tough love.
Make it stop! It just keeps on ticking away. Endlessly. Aimlessly. Smiling at us with each tick.
You get to ponder these things when you’re laid up for a few hours. Time does march on. I think recent events nag at me, and anesthesia and pain meds make good efforts to be a boat anchor. But I look around my bedroom and I see smiling faces in my pictures. Pictures of a younger me with thick, black, curly hair holding little girls with pacifiers in their mouths. There’s a picture of me kissing my Mary right before we left on our honeymoon. There’s a picture of a bald me in a suit with my oldest daughter wearing a white dress and hanging on my arm as I’m leading her down the aisle to her husband. There’s a picture of my my Mom and Dad standing with me and my brother. Our wives are at our side and all of my kids are there, too.
Time may take from me, but it gives to me as well. The same thief that takes away also brings new joy. My family. My kids. My friends. We all are seeing the gives and takes in the passage of time. The theft of time also leads to married children bringing on sons or daughters-in-laws. It also allows high school classmates to become grandparents and post the next generation on social media. You find out that Brian, who sat next to me in English class, has a daughter that is involved in dance. You cheer with Jay and Mary Lynn who ended up getting married and had boys scoring touchdowns on Friday night. Aaron, the valedictorian of our class, teaches college classes and has sons that like to distance run just like he did in high school track. I see Chris, who we dubbed Goob, is now Pastor Chris leading hearts to Christ. His son is a senior this year.
Man, you can’t help but smile. Time can be cruel, but it gives us so much to be thankful and have a heart of gratitude. Yes, we have tough times brought on by the thief of time, but maybe that great prophet Garth Brooks had it right when he sang, “I could have missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the dance.”
God is good, y’all. His Word reminds us, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to harvest, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to break down and a time to build up, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance….”
Hold on, now. My daughter is coming in and she’s carrying Chick-Fil-A ice cream with chocolate syrup! Perfect for a swollen jaw! Sorry, I got to hang up on you now and eat this delicacy. Oh, I do love Chick-Fil-A. I love y’all, too.
And no, that’s not the pain meds talking.
