Growing old

Do we stop playing because we grow old or do we grow old because we stop playing?

My grandfather was 92 when he died. He played games up until his death. He loved to laugh and thoroughly enjoyed a good teasing.

One Christmas, I vividly remember my elderly grampy lifting my wife on a set of bathroom scales to find out her weight. He was at least 85 at the time. She kicked and screamed as he hoisted her on the liar's pad.

His body failed him in his nineties. His joie de vivre did not.

I think we grow old because we forget how to play. Play like a school child. Play like no one's watching. Even if they are, who cares? Having fun is not a bad thing.

I'm my true self when I laugh out loud while slapping my leg. Yet I protect that laughter in fear of someone discovering the playful, youthful, lightening eyed me.

If you ask a child what they want most out of life you'll hear they want to grow up. If you ask most adults what they want most out of life, you'll hear the opposite answer. Adults want to stay young. Not the peer pressure, no experience in anything young. Adults are looking for experiences in which they can feel young.

Feeling comes from doing. What are you doing to stay young.

The older I get, the less I care about what others think about me. Dancing in the middle of the grocery isle, embarrassing my kids is so much fun. Not just because of the look I get from them. It's also from the adrenaline rush of doing something I would never have done as a young man. It's like streaking in public without removing the clothes. That's a story for a different time.

Keep playing and youth will follow you around like a hungry cat.