Live Forever or Die Trying



I do a Dog and Pony Show in front of 140 teenagers for nine months out of twelve. Some days students are dazzled, other days dulled. My best audience response usually occurs when I give out  teaser information about myself, specifically age. But first they love to guess. During this annual process I have learned that - besides having gooey, half-formed frontal lobes - teenagers are all over the place when it comes to knowing how old adults really are. Guesses have ranged from 28 (the kid was close to failing the semester and looking for a grade bump - he got it) to 62. "But Mr. Bergman," the 62'er replied to my scowl, "your neck hair is so gray!" Touche.

 

So I explain aging to them like this: Kids are grapes, adults are raisins. Teens are full of juices and oils and awkwardness. Seasonal temps and air pressure changes have no effect on you. Kids are bursting 24/7/365, liable to combust at a moment's notice. We adults however, go through a shriveling, settling process that begins in our late 30's and never stops. I resist telling them that the best we can do is slather on generous helpings of skin lotion to keep the flaking at bay but there never seems to be enough Jergens in the house.  Confession: This winter I set a personal record for itching and scratching and in the darndest places. Nuf' said.

 

 



 

So, as I rely more and more on coffee to revive me each morning, my thoughts sometimes return to where I've been and where I'm headed. In total I would have to say I've taken a lot fewer hard knocks physically than most - over half a life a manageable amount:

 

1. Two stitches as a five-year old. I was certain I could outrun a friend on his bike. I couldn't. The pedal over my scalp and the ensuing bloodbath was more than enough proof.

 

2. Four-inch belly gash as an eight-year old. I raised tree climbing to an artform as a kid but when you are on your way down after missing a step, a jagged branch will do some damage. Cool scar though.

 

3. Broken middle finger as a 17-year old. This football injury looked pretty hideous at the time, but is still worth it whenever I am asked if I have broken a bone. The questioner gets flipped off. 

 

4. Inch and a half cheek scar when I was 18. This shaving (yes, shaving) accident has allowed me to indulge my dangerous side (I have none actually). When asked where I got the scar, my answer is always the same. "Knife fight."

 

5. A broken foot when I was 35. This basketball injury ended a promising career of aging gracelessly. Apparently, I hadn't learned my lesson when I was 30, having had my knee scoped after doing a lousy imitation of Kirby Puckett attempting to catch a looping line drive on the softball field. Stupidly, I am coming out of retirement this spring. Lesson not learned.

 

6. Elective "birth control" surgery at 36. All in all, not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Still, when I saw cauterizing  smoke wafting up between my legs mid-operation, I was compelled to ask, "How many times have you done this Doc?" And although his answer relieved me, I couldn't help but wonder what little boy dreams of growing up to perform over two thousand vasectomies, last count?

 

Thankfully, for the past decade I have dodged further bullets but a lifetime of scoliosis has begun to take a toll on my back, neck and shoulders (or maybe I'm just a whiner). Still, after taking inventory, I consider myself lucky.

 

Regardless, the maintenance work has begun. I used to think certain remedies were more snake oil and liniment than actual self-help aids, but I've come around to believe that if I think I'm doing my body good that's good enough for me. Such as:

 

1. Pills, Pills, Pills. When I was a kid, my grandma always kept a clear container on her bathroom counter. It was oddly marked M  Tu  W  Th  F  Sa  Su. Even though I didn't know its purpose, it was synonymous with old age. I'm on at least my fourth pill box now and it speaks to my sense of order and forgetfulness. Love it. And it contains enough supplements to choke a Shetland (fish oil for nervous system, multi-vitamin for important aging male stuff, B-complex for really important aging male stuff, Vitamin D - I've been told it's a "happy pill" - and low-dose aspirin to keep the heart attacks away). You Go, Gammy!





2. Whey and "Super Green" Drink Powder. When these two separate protein and vegetable supplements are combined with milk the result is something close to the same vomit that little girl spewed in The Exorcist. Thankfully, it tastes like a strawberryish milkshake. I'm all for anything that fools me into thinking I am having ice cream daily and understudies for the veggies I never eat.



 

3. Coffee and Eggs. That's right. Apparently, they are good for you again. Daily. In moderation. With cream. Lots of cream. Sugar too. And salt. Plenty of salt. Cooked in bacon grease. Don't argue with me - I'm right about this.



 

I've always been a big believer in Balance. But I've discovered that achieving a balance I can enjoy is going to mean being much better to my body in the second half of life than I was in the first. Then I could absorb the blows a lot better because I was still a Grape. Now that I've reached Raisinhood, there are all kinds of "lotions" on speed dial. And I'm sure more to come.

 

But if you plan to Live Forever, you have to Die Trying.