PRISONER EXPRESS

Children rush to grow up, wanting to be of an age to sample adult amusements. Time seems to creep, except when it rushes us through moments of joy. How slowly did those boring hours in algebra class pass? All of us must have felt the bell ringer toyed with us and stretched those interminable periods to make up for the minutes shaved from lunch, recess and gym class.

Do you remember the invincibility of being a budding adult? Who could tell a young person how precious are those days of immortality. A job, a car, choices, freedom. No one to tell you to go to bed. Can you remember when you knew everything? The next year would come, usually on your birthday, and you'd think how stupid you were to believe you knew it all last year when you were only a child. Of course this new knowledge renewed your assurance of knowing it all this year, till the next would come. Finally, hopefully not too far in the future, you came to realize that not only did you not know it all, no one does. All knowledge is beyond any person's comprehension. Who could comprehend the incomprehensible? Not even Mom and Dad. Don't tell Mom, she'll never believe it.

Time will continue, as it always has, and a day will come when you climb out of bed slower, go to bed earlier on your own, and find your old joints can predict the weather. All the injuries you shook off in invincible youth return with a vengeance, collecting interest for having to wait to be paid in pain. Hair goes gray, skin goes slack and muscles sag. Still life is beautiful, though it becomes a trial. Old age, at its worst, beats the only other alternative all to hell. You might not rule as you once hoped, but you find a multitude of pleasures at your slower pace. Many are those you missed in your haste to grow up.

Speaking with a young fellow in 1987, I asked him his age. He was a proud 18- year-old. Laughing, I told him he was just a baby, still wet behind the ears. He asked my age, which I stated with equal pride, "26 years old and old beyond my years". "Your not old yet, you have 4 more good years left", he told me with verve. I was tempted to spank him. That was nearly 20 years ago and I am still here. My hair is sprinkled with gray, and lines crinkle my eyes. Maybe I'll be old at 60. Probably not. At least my mind will be young, or think it is.

Youth is often synonymous with arrogance. What can we learn from some old fart who's made a mess of his own life? Do we ever think to learn from the wisdom earned from trial and error, often at great cost?

Though I have a tendency to creak like an un-oiled hinge when I first arise each morning, and I have made a royal mess of my life, there is still much advise awaiting a patient youth willing to take time to listen. I search for a creature rarer than a unicorn. When you see a smug grin on an ancient face, it may not be the result of passing gas in there Depends. They may have an idea of your future and have given up on trying to warn you. You never listen anyway.

Time is a matter of perspective. To some it is kinder than others. There is a common factor. No matter your age there is only one way out of getting older. As for me, I'm not ready to go yet. There are books to read and smiles to share. The day will come, as it must for all of us, when there is no choice left except to cross the Styx and explore another realm of existence. This shall be embraced, as all adventures must be, for there are numerous theories of what lies beyond deaths revolving door, and I will glory in proving most, if not all, of them wrong; if I don't prove they are all right.