It seems all I do now that I am up in age, old and useless compared to what I once was, is to think about days gone by.  Days when I could run a mile and not tire, when I could beat-up boys twice my size and still have the strength to ride my bike up and down the steep hills of West Virginia. In the Spring and Summer I would never go in the house. I was either playing “all up goes down” on our neighbor Murphy’s hill, running in my underwear through a sudden summer rainstorm, playing hide and seek until way after dark along with all my friends in the neighborhood or roaming the hills that rose to the sky in the back of our house. All of these things were great fun and I just could not get enough when I was young, and venturous, and happy and naïve. In the winter, sledding down Riley’s hill, having snowball fights that may involve twenty kids from the neighborhood or building a snowman on every front lawn on the street. I would pick 3 foot long icicles off the side of our house, licking them in between sword fighting with my buddies. Yeah, those were the days…those days of long ago, or, were they?

It is most often the days of my youth that I reminisce about. I remember bits and pieces of happiness like it was ice cream, like they were the best times of my life. I relive those days like an old movie I have seen a thousand times, each time with more joy than the time before. God knows old age has brought me full circle and given me more heartache than I ever thought possible. The pain of life has certainly resided with me to be sure and I know I am not alone. We all have suffered and we all have seen disappointment to be sure and I can empathize with those that have lived a life of turmoil and un-fulfillment, but at this point in my life, as I look at the dwindling time I have left here on earth, it is my condition that I am focused on. That is why I even question whether those days gone by were the best. What about all the years in between the young and the old. Weren’t those days the best? The days when I got my first job, got my first car, first apartment, first real girlfriend, first broken heart. Weren’t those the best days? Those were the days that began to mold me, to form me into the man I would become. What about my moral and spiritual values? When did they begin to show themselves? Was it when I was ten, throwing ice balls at passing cars on the street below Murphy’s hill, or was it later when I had my first real decision to make when  faced with a question of propriety? And what of promises I made, were they empty or were they a bond of trust? Did I disappoint those I made them to or did I prove I would always be reliable? Speaking of trust, did I give it to the ones I loved and in turn, let them know they could trust me as well? Was my word true, sincere and faithful or was it a matter of just so much small talk? When did  faithfulness begin to matter to me, when I was trying to get laid for the hundredth time, showering affection and lying to a woman I knew I would never see again or was it when I came home to my wife in the middle of the night, smelling of rancid perfume and reeking of the distasteful aroma of old sex? Was faithfulness learned during those scant years of deciding to be faithful, to be a man? Were those years my best ones or were  they were the worst ones. Those middle ones, the middle-aged years when I knew right from wrong and didn’t have to be reminded which was which, and yet, did whatever brought the most pleasure, the most intense adrenalin rush. Did the middle years erase any progress of character that began in earlier years? Had my word become doubted, my faith compromised, and my morality all but misplaced? After all, it was the middle years, those years of building relationships, of correcting errors and developing  commitments that let those around me know what I was all about. It was experiences; both expected and unexpected that determined my right to either be called a good man or something less flattering by those who shared a morsel of life with me. It all leaves me wondering now…what were the best years of my life?

What comes after middle age anyway? Do you go from young to middle aged to old? That doesn’t seem fair. There ought to be another period in there somewhere, you know, a place where you can look at yourself in the mirror, knowing there is still time to correct things, to make adjustments, to change bad to good or hate to love. If the only time you can do that is when you are old, what good is making the change anyway? I mean, you only have a few more years left, why waste the little energy you have left trying to remedy a wrong or change conviction now? Yeah, it may be the right thing to do, but who is left to appreciate any change in you anyway? Your former friends are now just a memory, your loved ones have either passed away or no longer consider themselves your loved ones. What does it matter?

Oh yes. I seem to have forgotten.

Perhaps because I am old now and my memory isn’t so good anymore, but our Creator cares. He would appreciate it!  After all, He has seen me run amok most of my life. It would be nice since He has provided for me all these years if I would show some appreciation for His kindness and mercy. He is worth changing my life for…even if it is but for a short time. There are others too. The woman I have been married to all these years would, I suspect, like to remember me in a better light than she sees me in now. It has been a long road for her, one that may be made easier in my last days if I were kinder and gentler. Perhaps she would even remember me when I am gone without too many regrets…although that is a lot to ask.

There are my children and grandchildren too!

How will they remember me? Were any of my better days shared with them?

My children  missed out on having a father because of my poor decision making in those early years when they were most vulnerable, when they needed me the most.  They are alienated from me this very day. So were those years, the ones I so often like to say were the best ones really that good?  Ask my children what they think!

So, here it is, today, now, the twilight of my journey!

I think about my life, where I have been, what I have accomplished, what I failed at, who I have loved and who I should have loved more, and I still don't know what the best years of my life were.

Perhaps I don't know because there weren’t any “best years”.

Just maybe all the years I lived were just years that those I leave behind know little or nothing about, so it will not be difficult for them to forget.  

It is possible that the years after I am gone will be the best years of them all. Then I will no longer have to think about the best or the worst of my life. And the ones I leave behind, won’t  either.