I don't have any kids. I'm not having any kids. I miss out on soccer games, ballet practice, piano lessons. Baby's first haircut, the Pinewood Derby. I'm okay with all of that.
Not having kids means you can do a bunch of stuff, pretend you're wealthy, and sleep whenever the Sandman calls upon ye. Still, considerations have to be made for the future. You always have to be thinking about the future. I hate dumping money into my 401k, money that could otherwise be used for adventures today. Today Me needs a cold beer, Today Me wants to slum it at the 99 for a few hours with Gold Fever Wings, Today Me wants to buy a book of scratch tickets. Today Me does these things, but he's gotta be careful. Someday, life is going to come calling—not for bar tabs and cell phone bills past due, but for the real stuff. Life's splendid cab is always looking for a new fare, and so while the ride can be beautiful, eventually you gotta make your date and get the hell out of the car.
Tomorrow Me has his eyes going. Tomorrow Me is incontinent. Tomorrow Me is worried, unsure. Tomorrow Me needs someone he can count on.
Selfishly, that's why having kids is nice. They may not always visit in the golden years, but they won't let you sit in your own filth too long (most of them, anyway). My plan is to pool my life's finances with those of other friends in the same childless boat. We’ll buy a big house with proper acreage, a place we can all age together, play cards, and have dinner during the afternoon. It’s a place we can explore new movies and tv shows as a group, a place we serve not only as residents, but also the staff. You load the dishwasher and I'll prepare the snack plate. Someone else will get the dogs inside, while another sets all the dimmer switches at the best level, so nobody hurts their eyes when the sun goes down. We go to the market together, we argue about cribbage scores, we read the obituaries to see if one of us made it.
This is what I have to think about.
Communing and geriatric carpools. Organizing a massive linen closet. Watching the world burn on network television and noodling over whether or not it's better to dangle in the stairwell from a beam than to barbecue under the blaze of intercontinental ballistic missiles.
I digress. It's not Shady Pines Convalescence Home for my future. It's going to be me, good friends, and some cold ones. Isn't it strange how such a simple equation can carry you through almost every stage of your life?
Shuffleboard’s at 2pm. See you there.
Barry