Time Marches On . . .

This face is all I have, worn and lived in, the lines below my eyes are like old friends. . . 
and when cracks appear, they suit me fine--like a good ol' dog, you won't hear me whine . . .
I can't believe the reflection on the wall who used to be the fairest of them all . . .

     With reverence toward the incomparable Willie Nelson who penned those words, I focus today on a topic seldom discussed outside our homes yet so vital to our self esteem: our faces. As we self inventory, whether we admit it or not, our focus typically centers on the face, our most precious and our most changing identity. Regardless of what age we are at the moment, our faces portray a change, even though we often do not want to face those changes.

     Funny how my perspective has altered as I edge closer to 60 . . . the ol' dog mentioned previously has begun to view life at a much more comfortable, relaxed pace, one that has allowed me to truly get off the treadmill and begin enjoying the life I have lived. The photos I occasionally see of this kid who wore tiger pajamas, who played with his trains at Christmas, and who enjoyed building model cars from kits all show a smiling, carefree-looking boy. The Vitalis my dad put in my hair and the goofy ties I wore every Sunday reflect a kid who had no cares in the world . . . the face was innocent.

     Following those elementary years came the junior high/high school saga. The beginning of zits, the excitement of having girls pay attention, the highs and lows of sports, the challenge of harder classes, the decisions that seemed so easy to make yet carried such harsh consequences, the desire to fit in no matter what it took to do so . . . the innocent face began to change, but it still retained a freshness that reflected optimism . . . the world was in front of me.

     The college years: drinking; studying; feverishly watching The Unknown Comic and Gene, Gene, The Dancing Machine on The Gong Show; hanging out in bars (and liking it!); looking for love; discovering independence; growing my hair long  . . . the innocence was being challenged and oftentimes buried because the adult was peeking through . . . a new face was emerging . . . this close to changing from a kid into a man.

     The working world slapped me whether I wanted it to or not.  Getting a steady paycheck, teaching and coaching kids, emerging as a role model, being watched by parents and others--all contributed to a maturity I had avoided for so long.  The responsible face had arrived . . . time to grow up and morph into my parents . . . but I didn't want to do that, so I kept hanging on to those college experiences on weekends . . . until that got to be old news . . . the face was still smiling, but something was missing.

     What was missing was companionship--friends were still many, but part of me had grown tired of my lifestyle. Running had always been part of my existence since those middle school years, but now I found it to be a refuge. Training for marathons and other races was my outlet . . . I loved it, but it merely occupied my time. Dating had been going on for several years, but my insecurity about wanting to settle down had prevented me from getting overly serious, oftentimes to my own detriment. Not sure about what I wanted, I did know it was time to change . . . my face no longer hid what I wanted.

     Soon, marriage followed by two daughters entered my life--everything changed. No longer was I the centerpiece; in fact, my life became somewhat secondary as I tried to make sense of the obligations, the challenges, and the goals of being a husband and a dad . . . responsibility was my main focus, raising kids to be successful; maintaining a marriage that featured two working adults with limited together-time due to work schedules; seeking success financially, academically, athletically, socially, personally . . . all contributing to a tired face that knew that pressure was mounting, knowing that I had a family to care for, knowing that I had better not screw up because the consequences would be devastating . . . the pressures of adulthood had smacked me.

     The kids were raised, mistakes were made where sometimes I just called myself a dumbass, lessons were taught and learned, the little girls who had melted my heart from day 1 were now adults and had  branched out on their own to different parts of the country, my career unfolded as well as I could have ever hoped . . . and then it ended. Retirement, which had previously been reserved for old people, now was part of my life. The wrinkles had been creeping in for many years, but now I noticed them more than ever. The wrinkled brow, the bags beneath the eyes, the crooked lines beside the eyes . . . never really noticed them that much but now, without a doubt, they are there.

     The journey--I hope--is far from complete, but the world looks different to me these days. No longer is it something I want to conquer, but it is something I want to appreciate. Memories of my childhood, my maturation, my family, my career, and my students all seem a bit more vivid these days. In my den hang pictures of accomplishments, friends, family--their power lingers. The face today . . . experienced, a bit jaded, wise, celebrated . . . the lines and wrinkles? I welcome them because I have worked hard to get them, and they all mean something to me . . . when I look in the mirror, I don't see old age; instead, I see much life to live, to experience . . . I see a bright future, one I don't want to miss!

What do you do with a memory?
You can't hold back the sands of time . . .
Can't erase the things I saw . . .
What do you do with old regrets?  Hold them close enough to not forget.

     In yet another song, Willie has nailed it . . . and so have I!

mag.gunther@gmail.com