As of late I’ve found myself feeling a shift in the character I have played for many years in our family. My roster spot as the biggest, strongest, and most athletic male in the household is being aggressively challenged by some bushy headed 15 year-old rookie that I used to haul to bed piggy-back style. Witnessing the dramatic upward trajectory of his physical size and athletic ability over the past year has served as a not so subtle reminder that my upward trajectory has peaked and is now rapidly earth bound.

I can still lift more weight and run further than the bushy headed punk and I’m sure if my alpha status were challenged in a direct altercation I could hold my own but I can feel it slipping. Like a transmission in an old Studebaker that doesn’t quite grab in each gear. Stuff grinds, things pop, the seats are worn, and the exhaust lingers long after it’s limped on by.

This shift has been gradual but seems to have picked up speed a bit as of late. Things that used to require little effort on my behalf now take everything I have to attempt to keep up with the above mentioned punk. Before his spurt of growth towards manhood I could get away with about a 60% effort when throwing him batting practice. Now the percentages have shifted and I feel as though he only needs 60% effort to match my 100%. What does this mathematical shift mean? It means that my arm hurts, my low back is twitching, and my pride is aching.

The bushy-haired punk is a pretty good tennis player and the Studebaker is not. In my previous role as household dominate male action figure I could go to the tennis courts and lollygag about, smash a few shots here and there to show the punk how dangerous this dude could be. I was made aware a few days ago when playing tennis with the boy that this dude is not dangerous anymore. This dude has lost an “e”. I believe it was knocked off by one of the forearm smashes the rookie wacked my way.

He seemed to take delight in my inadequacy on the court. I wouldn’t say that he gloated but I’m pretty sure he wanted to. I could sense a pre-gloat in the air but he was empathetic enough to stifle it and turn it into something more sinister…patronizing. That thing you do when you are playing against someone that is slower and less talented. That thing I used to do to the kids when we played sports. That thing looks ugly from the other side.

This role adjustment has elicited an array of thoughts, feelings, and reflections on my part. Most of which has led me to the conclusion that there is absolutely nothing I can do about this mess I’ve gotten myself into by aging. This aging thing seemed like a good idea when I was his age, but somewhere along the way I took it to far. I’m painfully aware that my good ain’t so great anymore but I’m not sure where to go from here.

I’m not even sure how I got here so how am I supposed to know where to go from here? This is a fine mess.