As I’ve gotten older, my outlook on birthdays has changed.

When I was young, I wanted a new Barbie doll. During my teenage years, it was a new album. In my 40’s, I wanted comfortable shoes. As we age, our wish list changes.

I looked online to see what people are looking forward to in their older years. One study said many people in their 60’s are happy.

That was the only good news in this article.

In depressing detail, the author went on to chronicle all the downsides of getting older.

Our risks of contracting cancer or another disease are on the rise. I think I’m safe from Mad Cow Disease and the bubonic plague, but “old people” illnesses are getting closer and closer.

We also have hearing loss to look forward to. I suppose all those hours of listening to Steppenwolf and Chicago full blast have come home to roost.

“Born to Be Wild” can’t be fully appreciated with the volume turned to three. That knob needs to go up to at least 10 with the bass fully loaded.

I’m okay with getting hearing aids. They fit behind the ears and are barely noticeable. I want to hear what everybody’s saying – being nosy has always been part of my DNA, and I’m not going to let vanity get in the way.

Right up there with hearing aids is the inevitable need to wear glasses. But no worries there. We don’t have to settle for stainless steel or thick black rims. We can order glasses in every color of the rainbow or, if we really want, contacts can change our eyes to any color we want.

What a world.

Our skin changes as we age. Wrinkles, age spots and bruises are part of the new landscape on our arms and faces. Since there’s not much I can do about those wrinkles, I’m fine with how I look. Most of those marks came from going to the beach, and since I adore the sun, sand and surf, I’ll take the wrinkles.

Our bones and joints ache, we don’t sleep through the night, and a visit to the doctor can be the highlight of our month.

After decades of eating Sugar Babies and Icees, our teeth start to give us trouble, but the dental industry is right there with implants and replacements. We can finally have that Pepsodent smile.

Our brains aren’t as sharp as they used to be. For some, dementia and mental decline is unavoidable, and my heart goes out to those people and their caretakers.

For the rest of us, it might take longer to pull up names and facts, but thanks to Google, we don’t have to rack our brains to remember who won the World Series in 1967.

It was the St. Louis Cardinals, by the way.

For all the things we can’t recall, there are things we do remember. We know what it’s like to hold a transistor radio up over our heads to get the best AM signal.

We remember how careful we had to be when putting 45 RPM records on our home stereo and how we guarded those yellow plastic discs like they were gold.

We remember eating Sugar Frosted Flakes, Sugar Pops, Sugar Smacks – pretty much sugar for every breakfast. We loved Oscar Mayer bologna sandwiches – and we can sing the catchy jingle.

I don’t know how to use most of the software on my computer nor do I know how to maneuver around a Google doc. My phone, television, car and grandchildren are smarter than I am.

But there’s hope because there are things this ole gal knows.

I can drive a manual transmission, and I know how to pop the clutch. I can brew a hearty pot of coffee using an old-fashioned percolator. Not only can I make a bed with hospital corners, I can fold a fitted sheet.

I am who I am – a work in progress with regrets, accomplishments, setbacks and leaps forward.

Old age is coming whether I like it or not. The best way to greet it is with open arms, streamers and an “I-dare-you” grin on my face.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

Insect repellent.

Check.

Long sleeves.

Check.

Sword, shield, battle gear.

I wish.

Mosquito season has officially begun.  This year, the nasty insects are out in full force thanks to the heavy rains we’ve had over the past few weeks.

Coupled with the heat, it’s the perfect condition for mosquito larvae to hatch. It’s miserable for anyone who steps outside.

The grandkids and I were getting in the car one evening, and at least a dozen mosquitoes shoved their way into the car in the few seconds the doors were open.

That doesn’t include the ones we fought off on the way to the car. While swatting the bugs, the kids and I talked about the importance of insects in the circle of life.

They’re food for birds, help provide nutrients to the soil and, according to Texas A&M University, have the potential to be a tasty addition to restaurant menus.

No thank you.

Not all bugs are disgusting. Our boys loved picking up rolly pollys, watching them curl up and then waiting for them to unfurl and crawl off again.

Our grandchildren are equally fascinated by rolly pollys and caterpillars, and they’re not afraid to pick up little bugs.

All except the black, hairy stinging caterpillars. We made sure the kids stayed far away from them.

The South has more than its share of disgusting insects. First on the list are the ferocious, relentless and ever-present fire ants. They’re the most terrifying warriors on the planet.

Nothing can kill them. There hasn’t been an ant poison created that can stop them. Their bites are ferocious, and they attack with amazing speed.

The government should find a way to use them in warfare.

Then we have love bugs. There’s nothing to love about these seemingly harmless black bugs that float around during love-bug season. That is until you examine the front of your car and see a million love-bug bodies smeared across the grill.

They’re impossible to remove unless you use a power sander and, when you do, their carcasses take the paint right off your car. Maybe they’re bird food, but I doubt it. So we’re stuck with them until we find a way to rid the planet of these pesky bugs.

In certain years, oak trees are covered with caterpillars. They’re a big, swarming circle of disgusting bugs that make it look like the bark’s moving. Don’t stand too close to the tree to get a closer look – they’ll fall from the branches into your hair.

Northerners are always afraid when they see their first big, brown cockroach. That fear goes into full-blown terror when they realize those things can glide. The crunching sound they make when you step on them makes me gag, but a dead roach is better than a live one.

We have a problem with gnats right now. Much like the love bugs, gnats are tiny, almost invisible terrorists that bite and leave big welts all over your face or neck. It’s tough to find a bug repellent for them, but we did – Bug Soother spray in a big green bottle.

No matter where you live, flies are always a problem. I had a super fly in my car for two weeks – it wouldn’t get sucked out of the windows nor could I kill it. When I left the doors open for a few hours, that fly put out a mayday call for friends, and three more joined in.

But I found the secret to killing flies. Come up at them from behind. They can’t see you, and you’ll swat them every single time.

Until a harsh winter arrives, we’re stuck with the revolting bugs, stinging caterpillars, hairy spiders and ferocious fire ants.

Now where’d I put that can of Off?

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

My grandson and I made our way through the maze of one-way streets of downtown Houston, searching for the Houston Municipal Court building on Lubbock Street.

We pulled into the parking lot, and a friendly man gave us a parking permit. We’d made it to Teen Court.

My daughter-in-law, Alle, signed up her 16-year-old son, Alex, to take part in this program for teens who are interested in considering a career in law and/or criminal justice.

Alex would like to pursue a career as an attorney, and she thought he’d benefit from experiencing a working courtroom.

Teen Court is a hands-on, real courtroom with real cases overseen by a judge. Many cities in Texas, like Houston, sponsor Teen Court, and the goal is to provide an overall understanding of the juvenile justice system.

Teens who’ve already pled guilty or no contest to a crime have the choice to come to Teen Court and be tried and judged by their peers.

They agree to have teens serve as prosecutors, defense attorneys, and jurors. They understand they will accept the sentence handed down.

We weren’t sure what to expect on our first visit, but a friendly man welcomed us to the courtroom. He encouraged us to pick up dinner provided by the court. Alex signed in, we picked up our to-go boxes and sat down on one of the wooden benches.

The courtroom was filled with teens dressed in their best clothes. Jeans and T-shirts are not allowed, and it was obvious that the “church” clothes gave the teens an air of responsibility.

In advance, teens know if they’ll be on the defense or prosecuting team. Six are chosen at random to be jurors.

At our first trial, J. Elaine Marshall, the director and presiding judge of the Municipal Courts Department, asked the audience to stand.

Everyone took an oath – what’s said in Teen Court stays in Teen Court is the main idea. When the charged teen and his or her family came into the courtroom, they and their defense team left the room to converse about the charges.

When it was time to begin, Judge Marshall instructed the teens in what to do and the case started. Because of the sensitive nature of the charges, I won’t go into detail, but the teenage attorneys did a great job at presenting their side of the case.

Just like we see on television, the teen attorneys asked permission to approach the judge or the jury box. They followed the rules of the courtroom, just as they would if they were adult attorneys.

When both sides were finished presenting their cases, the jurors retired to a room to decide the sentence.

One of the judges took the time while the jury was out to speak privately to the attorneys about how they’d done representing the City of Houston or the defendant.

When the jury returned, the sentence was read, and everyone was thanked for their time and service.

None of the teens who pled guilty were made to feel like criminals. They were treated with respect by the adults and teens in the room, and everyone learned from the experience.

Alex and I have been going to Teen Court for the past few months, and we both find the experience exciting, engaging and informative.

On the ride home, we enthusiastically discuss how both teams behaved, the questions they could have or should have asked.

I’d recommend Teen Court to any high school student interested in pursuing a career in the law for an up-close look at how the judicial system works.

Many thanks to those in the Houston Municipal Court building who take the time to teach this next generation how the American legal system works.

It’s been fascinating to watch the past few months. I can’t wait for next year.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

 

If you grew up in the 50s and 60s, being on an organized sports team wasn’t an every-day part of growing up. Sports were all around, but in a much more casual way.

There were pick-up baseball and soccer games in a neighborhood empty lot or somebody’s back yard, but matching uniforms with numbers on the back weren’t on our radar.

For years, there was a never-ending basketball game in my parents’ driveway, one that finally ended when our mom sold the house.

My brothers played cut-throat basketball, and when the nephews got tall enough, they joined in. At first, the uncles gave advice, but as it became evident the nephews had surpassed them, the older generation handed the basketball over to the young-uns.

My sons loved baseball much more than basketball. When they were in elementary school, we joined the local Little League. There we made life-long bleacher buddies, and we found out what being a team parent was all about.

For the most part, parents paid our dues, made sure everybody got a trophy, and, most importantly, made sure every child on the team got to play no matter their skill level.

There are still leagues where there’s no official score – the game is fair. That might be the official statement, but almost every parent and every player keeps score. That’s because in sports, competition pushes players to want to get better and be the best.

This fall, our 12-year-old grandson played on an organized basketball team for the first time. He wanted to try a new sport, so his mom signed him up for the Longhorns. At the first practice, we quickly realized only one of the boys had ever played on a team.

The coach had his work cut out for him.

In one of the first games, it was clear our Longhorns were up against a power-house team. These kids knew how to dribble, pass, shoot three-pointers, steal the ball and rebound with ferocity.

By the beginning of the fourth quarter, it was obvious we weren’t going to win – the score was 50 to nothing. Finally, one of our players got fouled and he made the shot.

At least there wasn’t a zero in our column.

I hoped the other coach would let up and send his secondary team in. He did not. They showed no mercy. Our players walked out of that gym humiliated, especially when the other team was laughing and making fun of our boys.

I was furious. What about sportsmanship? What about being fair? I didn’t want the other team to let the Longhorns win, but a bit of mercy would’ve been, in my opinion, the right thing to do.

A few days later, I talked to a retired baseball coach, and he offered a different side of the argument.

These players were taught to win, just as our coach was teaching his players. What lesson would that other coach have taught his players if he told them to take it easy on the opposing team? My friend said our boys would’ve felt even more humiliated if somebody felt sorry for them and let them win.

At the next practice, instead of bad mouthing the other team or feeling down, our coaches and the boys on the team doubled down.

Practices went long. Drills were run over and over. They practiced passing the ball, getting rebounds and fighting to put points on the board.

When the last three games rolled around, our team was one of two who made the playoffs.

The Longhorns ended the season with second place. That afternoon, they held their heads high when they walked out of the gym, a medal around their necks. Their air of pride and confidence was quite a bit different from a few weeks earlier.

Whether it’s playing basketball in a driveway or a gym, competition brings out the best or the worst in us.

In my grandson and his teammates, I saw the best.

 

This column waws originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.