Don't Get Around Much Anymore

"Hey, Scott!"

"Yeah, Virgil?"

"You know that Father's birthday is next month."

sigh "Yes, I know."

"Well, we have to do something big this year."

"Why? Just because he's turning 60?"

"Well, yeah. That's a milestone."

"You really think he wants to be reminded of it?"

A moment of silence ensued.

"I... I guess not."

"So, we do the same thing we do every year. We have a special dinner at Penny's, we toast his good health, and we go home to the Island. Nothing special. No big reminder that he's getting older."

sigh "Okay, Scott."

Jeff overhead the conversation between his two oldest sons as they sat by the pool relaxing.

I'm turning 60. The big six-oh. Should I be happy I've made it this far with my health and all my faculties intact? Should I be looking at this as a milestone, something to be celebrated? Or is it just the back half of my life? The beginning of the inevitable spiral into old age? He had no answers, for himself, or his sons.

Many of his friends, when hitting this age or near this age, seemed to go crazy. They divorced their wives, picked up some sweet young thing to marry, sired a couple of children on her, and spent their money profligately. A sad and wasted attempt to recapture their youth.

Jeff had no illusions about that. He still missed and mourned his sweet Lucille and had no desire to remarry, especially since any woman he might choose would be held up to the measure of Lucy's memory and be found wanting. He had five sons of whom he was justifiably proud. Grown men, able to stand on their own two feet. Who would want to go back to the days of diapers and two o'clock feedings? Though Jeff supposed that the new trophy wives took care of that or they shoved the children off onto an au pair or nanny.

And money? Lord knew he had enough of it. Hard earned, well-invested money that ran this operation known to the world as International Rescue. Nothing he could buy could measure up to the satisfaction of rescuing those who had no other hope. And he wasn't one to spoil his boys either. He had taught them the value of hard work and of giving back instead of taking.

Still, there was something, something he couldn't put his finger on, something he felt was missing. Something that he had in his youth that he would recapture if he could do so.

He went into his room and closed the door. Opening the closet door to reveal the full-length mirror, he removed his shirt and looked at himself critically. He saw an older face, with silvered hair, on the body of a younger man. He was still toned, still trim, still fit. He worked out every day, swimming, running, using the weights. He sparred with his sons occasionally in the gym, keeping up his skills in the martial arts. He could be found at the shooting range, challenging himself to become a better marksman. There was nothing flabby about his mind, either. He read technical journals, newspapers, business publications, and even did the occasional crossword puzzle. In ink.

So, what was missing?

Jeff donned his shirt again. He took out a bottle of Scotch, and poured himself a shot of it, and kicked it back. He looked at the bottle. When did this become so important? he wondered. He put the bottle away, and rinsed the shot glass out in the bathroom sink. Wiping his mouth, he left his room and went out to the lounge. His lounge. His desk. His command. Not like his first command. Not like the voyage to the moon. The painting of the rocket caught his eye. Now that was a time! The excitement, the terror, the sheer grandeur of it all. The adrenaline.

That was it. Adrenaline. The rush of excitement that caused the heart to beat faster, the breath more shallow, the euphoria of danger met and conquered. He got a modicum of it every time the boys went out, but that was different. Mixed with it was terror and fear, fear for his boys, pure and simple. But not the rush, not the jazz that the boys felt whenever they spat in death's face. The reason men his age bought sports cars and fast boats. Adrenaline.

But he was too old to go out on rescues. He didn't have the experience. He couldn't hold his own. Or could he? He had always said that he never asked his sons to do anything he wouldn't do, couldn't do. But how did he know that? In a flash he had decided what to do about his "mid-life crisis".

He smiled. He had a lot of preparation ahead of him.