I know a lot of stories. I know stories about animals, small children, stories about bravery and stories about pain, grief and happiness beyond description. As I get older I hear or witness more stories. Sometimes I have to make up part of a story that I see. Because it didn’t end the way I wanted it to. That’s when it gets fun because I may tell the story to someone who also saw the story and perhaps their rendition does not match mine.  Not often but occasionally. My lovely bride with whom I have shared quite a few of these stories says I make up some of them. Well, they’re my stories so I guess I can tell them any way I want to.

She, my lovely bride that is, has heard all the stories I have lived since before we were married. Probably many times actually. She is so wonderful most of the time. She will sit there with a beautiful smile on her face and her countenance is so heartwarming. Then again there are times when she admits that she is happy that I am attending college. Not for the reason you might think.

To improve my mind, phshaw, she thinks I’m the smartest man she has ever met already. No, that’s not it. I like that I get to go over almost every day and meet people that I have never met and find that we have a lot in common, no matter their skin color or their thoughts about the politicians we share. Lorraine is happy that I have found a new source of people that have never heard my stories. She is right, as usual.

Other folks have stories too. I saw that this week. When you get a few miles on the odometer you usually have a few memories and stories. I wish they had a story day at the library where kids could come and ask what it’s like getting older and then we could sneak in a few of our favorite stories. I know I would have fun. I can’t speak for the poor soul that sits down and says, “Talk to me.”

It doesn’t hurt that I am taking a lot of writing classes because if I can’t corner some youngster in the coffee shop I can write some of my stories. Or I get to share them when we read our work aloud or the teacher reads them and grants a grade for the better ones. The funny thing is that I get to write what I want without anyone telling me what I have to write about. This past assignment has been tough because I have been writing about my ongoing battle with PTSD. If you don’t know what PTSD is I’ll be happy to send you a copy of my report but don’t expect it soon because as soon as I get through writing this I’ll forget what it was about. That’s a small joke about a really unfunny condition.

The strange thing was the Opinions that were written last week. Did you notice that all three of us who write often were on the same wagon? It was like we called each other and said, “Let’s write about getting old. That’s always good for a laugh.” It might not strike your funny bone but I got a lot of comments about last week and I want to thank both of you who mentioned it. Since we can’t do anything about getting older we might as well remember the good times.

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