Time Flies

I’m old.

That’s just a fact of life.

The problem is, lately, I’ve been feeling and probably looking older than I want to. It was very apparent recently, both in my speech and in the comments of my kids.

This is happening despite my best efforts to stay in shape.

So you can imagine my shock and dismay when I woke up and found I had aged 17 years overnight.

Everything seemed normal when I woke up this morning. The alarm clock said 6:30 a.m., just like it should. I got out of bed, groped and stumbled my way to the shower, feeling about like I usually do. I stay in the shower a long time, letting the hot water ease the stiffness in what pass for my muscles. Step out gingerly, towel off, look in the mirror. Dismayed, as always, not to find a younger, more handsome me staring back. It seemed like just another Friday.

But when I went downstairs and glanced at the newspaper, the date read Friday, July 22, 2022.

2022!

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I looked more closely. There was no denying it. The date says Friday, July 22, 2022.

Alarmed, I looked around my kitchen. Nothing much had changed, at least as far as I could tell. What the hell is going on? Just as I was about to look outside, Chris and Tommy came running into the kitchen.

“Hello Dad!” said Tommy.

“We’ve got something exciting to show you!” Chris said.

Oh. My. God.

Instead of my cute 3 and 5-year-old boys, I was looking at two towering grown men.

One stands about 6’ 3”, tall and lean. A swimmers’ body. His hair is light brown, just a touch darker than I remember it being back when he was 5. He wears it short. His green eyes still have that sparkle I remember so well. It can only be Chris.

The other is a touch shorter, probably 6’ 1”, a bit stockier than Chris. Lean through the waist, but his shoulders and arms are more muscular. His hair is blond, very light. He still has that intensity he’s had ever since I can remember. There’s no doubt – it’s Tommy.

Or is he going by Tom now?

Stunned doesn’t begin to express how I feel, staring at the adult versions of my two sons live and in the flesh. I listen carefully for the music from the old ‘Twilight Zone’ TV show, but hear nothing. Rod Sterling, where are you?

I still don’t understand what is going on. Since I can’t figure it out, I set aside the issue of ‘how the hell did this actually happen,’ and just stare at my two grown boys. My eyes well up with tears as I look at them standing there, strong, and healthy. God, they look good. Confident, smiling, secure in themselves and who they are.

I could die right now, a happy man, knowing my boys have grown into such fine young men.

But where the hell did those 17 years go?

I’m snapped out of my reverie by Chris, gently shaking my shoulder. “Dad,” he says, “are you okay? Come on, we have something to show you!”

“Of course,” I say, smiling. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” says Tommy with a mischievous grin.

Suddenly the three of us are standing outdoors what appears to be the sales lot of a gigantic automobile dealership. This day is getting stranger by the second. I have no idea how we got from our kitchen to this car lot, but here we are. And this place is easily the largest car dealership I have ever seen. Acres and acres of vehicles. All kinds of vehicles.

Chris, gesturing grandly across the massive expanse of rolling thunder, says proudly, “Well, what do you think, Dad?”

I think I’ve lost my mind, that’s what I think. But of course I can’t say that. He’s clearly very proud of this. “Well, it sure looks great, Chris. But what is this place? Why are we here?”

“Dad, this is our car lot,” says Tommy proudly.

I look around, and sure enough I see the giant sign. ‘Chris and Tommy’s Cars and Trucks’ towers over the main drag in our town. In what I assume to be an astute marketing ploy, the sign appears to be written in orange crayon.

Chris puts his arm around my shoulder and directs me toward a group of cars. “Dad, we have more vehicles here than anyone in the whole state. And it’s not just cars – we have so many vehicles, you can’t believe it!”

We approach a group of sports cars. “See,” Tommy says, “here are all the race cars. We have every kind. Red ones, green ones, a white one and a blue one. They all go really fast!”

I notice a few things. The cars don’t appear all that new, and no two are the same. In fact, they look like giant Hot Wheels cars.

Plus, I notice that despite their size, Chris and Tommy are talking like they are little kids.

“And over here,” says Chris, “are the dump trucks. We have so many dump trucks. And they can all carry heavy loads. Do you want to buy a dump truck, Dad?”

No. I do sort of want to know what the hell is going on, though.

The boys lead me past the dump trucks and over to the fire trucks. There are easily 20 fire trucks of various sizes. Some have missing parts; others look sort of brand new.

I’m wondering why they are trying to sell these vehicles. I mean, they must be doing well to carry all this inventory. Maybe this is what the car business has become in 2022. But back in 2005 you didn’t buy dump trucks and fire trucks at the same place you bought your Chevy minivan. I guess things really have changed in the past 17 years.

We move on to the Military section. It’s huge. Jeeps, tanks, and all kinds of aircraft. Hey, you can have your very own F-16! Sidewinders not included, of course.

Moving right along, Tommy says to me, “We have a very nice selection of farm tractors, Dad. Can I interest you in one of those?”

“Um, no, not today, Tommy,” I said. “You know, I don’t really have a place to put it back at the house.” But then I wonder, did I buy a farm at some point in the past?

“No, dad, you didn’t,” says Tommy, reading my mind. “I always wished you had, though.”

That’s right. He loved to play with the little farm set we had.

And looking at these tractors for sale, they look suspiciously like the ones from that old set…only about 50 times bigger.

I notice that I have a pain now in my left leg. A throbbing pain, like someone is kicking me. I look down and don’t see anything. But it’s starting to hurt.

Chris says, “Why don’t you come back to the showroom and have a seat, Dad? It looks like you could sure use a rest.”

Good idea.

We start walking over to the showroom. It’s a large, grand building but it seems far, far away. Chris and Tommy are walking ahead of me, talking to each other in hushed voices. I can just hear what they’re saying.

Tommy: “Gosh, why is Dad so tired?”

Chris: “He sure looks old these days.”

All of a sudden, I’m in a soft chair in their showroom. This chair is comfortable. I think I’ll stay here awhile. Close my eyes, just for a minute. Now if only that throbbing in my leg would stop…but instead, it’s getting much worse.

And Chris and Tommy are now talking louder.

“Dad….Dad?”

“DAD, GET UP!”

Tommy, in a soft, plaintive voice, says, “Daddy, don’t you want to see the rest of my cars?”

I open my eyes, find myself back in my house. In my living room. I look around, see Chris and Tommy standing there, staring at me.

5-year-old Chris. 3-year-old Tommy.

Tommy is kicking my leg.

“Dad, we’ve lined up all of our cars, trucks, farm equipment, airplanes and army trucks. Don’t you want to see them?”

The living room floor is covered in toy vehicles, all neatly segregated by type. There are the Hot Wheels, the dump trucks, the military vehicles.

There’s the F-16.

And Tommy’s farm equipment.

“Dad, this is so great. Come over here and look at this…”

I get down on the floor and look at all the trucks. Chris and Tommy are so excited, they’re talking a mile a minute, having the best time.

I sit back and watch them play. So young, full of energy. Happy to sit on the floor and play with their vehicles. And I was missing this moment.

How many moments have I missed because I was too tired, too preoccupied, to busy to get involved with what they were doing?

How many more will I miss?

Will I wake up one day, see my tall, strapping sons standing in the kitchen, and wonder where the years went?

Or will I work hard to treasure every day, every experience, every moment with my boys, and make the most of our time together?

The answers to those questions are obvious.

I reach out, grab both of my boys, pull them close into a snuggly bear hug. “Guys,” I say, “You’ve done a great job organizing all your vehicles. And I want you to tell me all about them.”

“But don’t grow up too fast, okay?”

They look at me like I’m from outer space.

“What are you talking about, Dad?”

Never mind.

Just don’t grow up too fast.

It’s great to be The Family Man.