Fine Wine or Sour Grapes?

Who said that men, like fine wine, get better with age? Probably not a man. If it was, he was in denial, a very common male trait. Hide the vulnerabilities with the right amount of posturing. Spin the situation with a catchy euphamism, and voila, Macho Man lives on. Well I for one ain't buyin' it. As a young man, it was volleyball four days a week. Throw in there the determined quest for the ultimate donut shop, or 3AM food runs at Tommy's (UCLA's answer to "Which chiliburger can induce acid reflux the fastest?") Heap on dozens of other abuses and still, I always managed to rebound in time for the next game.

Fast forward to my current state. What state is that, you ask? The state where forty is just over the border. The state where an hour and a half volleyball match comes with a mandatory sentence of life with pain. The state where Krispy Kreme should be a controlled substance, but instead it's been legalized to keep minorities down. Hum, I've never played the race card before. I'm just throwing that in for dramatic effect. Hey, it works for democrats ;-)

OK. I know. I've painted a pretty one-sided view on aging. With age comes experience and wisdom. I recognize the life lessons I've learned along the way. I appreciate that life is more about fulfillment than fun. Fatherhood is way more demanding than spanking the ball down hard-cross. And the game ain't over when the whistle blows. I guess I am getting better with age. I'm equipped with better tools for life's real challenges. Now if only my shoulder would stop aching.