So here's the set-up for this particular line of thought, the one I'm about to lay on you.  You've been feeling a little out of sorts, not just quite right, and so you make an appointment to see a doctor.  And you go to his office and sit in the waiting room, and all around you are people who're obviously much worse off than you are . . . coughing, sneezing, maybe even groaning and moaning a little.  That's when the question pops into your head - Hey!  What am I doing here? 

And it's not the question that really bugs you, either.  It's the obvious answer, which is - Hey!  I don't belong here.  That may be the way you feel, but you need to fight off these feelings because they're going to haunt you most of your life.  Get used to it.

I remember lots of instances from the past where I felt just that way.  I went out for football in high school, weighed a hefty 140 lbs., had about two sprigs of hair on my chest, and had shaved maybe a half dozen times in my life.  My first time in the locker room with older kids left me asking that question - Hey!  What am I doing here?"  By the time I was a senior, that feeling had gone away.

My first faculty meeting as a young 25 year old college professor left me feeling that way.  I felt that way standing in front of a preacher getting married for a second time, at the age of 48 and to a woman nearly a decade  younger than that.  It got me when I moved to Texas after retirement and ran into people who acted as if they still thought the earth was flat.  My first trip to the national finals as a young rodeo coach made me feel that way, as did my first day standing in front of a college class.  I've felt that way hundreds of times, and most of the time it passed as I felt more at home with the new surroundings and situations.

I managed to make it through my professional career without being much of a joiner.  I've never belonged to a professional organization, or a union, or a civic oranization, or even a local men's club.  For some reason, I just never felt a part of anything like that.  And I did just fine without all that stuff . . . and then I started getting old.  And when you get old, you start getting lonely.  And that old familiar feeling comes back again, and you're going, "Hey!  What am I doing here?  I don't remember joining this.  Who signed me up for this?"

And now I'm wondering, am I going to get used to this?  Is this just new ground I'm going to have to get used to walking?  Am I going to spend the rest of my life feeling like I'm a stranger here?  The only comforting thing about my conditon is that I know a lot of other people out there are feeling the same way.  I know that because they tell me . . . in so many words. 

I don't need to be told that I'm growing old.  Nobody needs to come right out and say it, but everybody says it one way or another in the way they act.  In fact, hearing it said is a little comforting because it confirms how you feel, and I'm not talking about how we feel physically.  Like I said, old age sometimes makes you lonely, and in ways none of us are ever able to explain. 

I called my old roommate from back in college the other day.  We've not seen each other in years, not since my mother's funeral back in 1992.  And we hadn't visited on the telephone in at least ten years.  So we chatted, talked about people we knew, and like all folks getting on in years, we talked about people who are not longer with us.  And the list of dead friends grows as we grow older.  "We need to visit more often," I said before hanging up.  "We need to get together before long."  He said, "Yeah, we do.  Time is short, you know."

So . . . here it is just the day before Christmas Eve.  I say the words out loud because I need to hear them.  I am old.  Time is short.  But the kids are coming . . . and the grandkids . . . and I know one thing for absolute certain.  When they get here and we're all gathered for another Christmas together, I will not think, "Hey!  What am I doing here?" That will be the last thing on my mind.

And that's just the way it should be.

D. Paz, 12/23/07