Too Late Too Smart

I'm eighty-three. Someone told me that's the new thirty-five but as far as I can determine that's only half true. Life now is like a song I heard that said something to the effect: My mind says yes you can, but my body says oh no you can't. The new thirty-five doesn't pertain to the body.

Now that I think about it, I guess it doesn't always pertain to the mind, either. Once in a while I find myself reflecting on my life, which is not a malady I suffered from when I was actually thirty-five. Back then I was too busy with life to spend time thinking about it. I lived it on my own terms, much to the chagrin of those around me. However, when I think about it I always come to the conclusion that there are three things I regret. Two of them are out of play now but I think one is still correctable. That is, I wish I had been a better father.

Don't get me wrong, the kids turned out great but that had more to do with my wife than anything I did. Not that I was a terrible father. There were just things I should have done or should have done better/differently. My father died when I was a year old and I grew up in adverse circumstances so I always blamed my short comings on not having a role model. Now I realize that's just a weak excuse. There were many things I could have done. For example, I could have read some books on parenting.

So, now I'm still working on it. For example, I have always believed that funerals are for the living, not the dead. The dead are dead. How could they possibly care? Consequently, whenever I've been asked about my funeral, I've always told the kids that as far as I'm concerned they should just find a dumpster in a dark alley, deposit my carcass in it, and get on with their lives. After all, it would certainly be easier for them than arranging a funeral. But then I met the world's greatest salesman. He came door-to-door selling cemetery plots. I say he was the world's greatest because he had an answer for every objection I threw at him. He just refused to take no for an answer. I didn't think he'd understand about the dumpster and I didn't want to take the time to explain so I finally told him I didn't need a cemetery plot because I wanted to be cremated. His mouth dropped and a look of pure shock covered his face. After a deliberate moment of silence he replied, “Do you understand the psychological effect it will have on your children if they don't have a grave to visit?”

After I kicked his foot out of the way and slammed the door, I couldn't help from thinking about what he said. Personally, I'm fine with the dumpster but is it really the best thing for the kids? Perhaps I needed a new plan. Perhaps I needed to put aside how I felt about it and concentrate on how I can truly do what's best for these deserving children. You'll be happy to hear that after a great deal of thought, I have come up with a new plan.

When I die I want my carcass taken to a taxidermist and stuffed. I believe that will provide the most benefit to my kids, grandkids, and generations to come. They'll have the sheer pleasure of my company for all of their days. Need a dinner partner? Put me in a chair. Need someone to talk to? You'll never find a better listener. Need someone to yell at? Want to chastise me for the parenting failures of my youth? You'll get no argument from me. Don't want to talk? Just need some quiet time? That's my specialty. Take a parent to work day? I'm always available, no advanced notice required, and they never have to worry about hurting my feelings by not inviting me. When they need me, I'm there. Or not. Best of all, I'll be the extra person needed to drive in the carpool lane.

In addition, it will teach them planning, sharing and logistics. Who gets me for Christmas? Who for Thanksgiving? Birthday coming up? Surprise! They just have to decide how I'll get there and how long I'll stay.

If only I could have been this wise when I was young.