This is a recent photo of me. For 69 years of age, I guess I look okay. My teeth are a little crooked, My hairline is receding, both my knees have been replaced, and I still could use to lose 20 pounds. This old body is slowly falling apart. Nowadays, I’m just above average. And that’s okay with me.
Of the first ten numbers in our counting system (if you don’t count zero) 7 is my favorite number. When I was a kid and more superstitious than I am now, 7 was my Lucky Number. Many great athletes wore that number: Mickey Mantle, “Pistol” Pete Maravich, soccer legend Cristiano Ronaldo, not to mention Tony McElhenny of the Binghamton (NY) Rumble Ponies minor league baseball team. Tony played short stop for one season before the Rumble Ponies released him – which is why I should have followed my own advice “not to mention” him.
There are seven days of the week, Seven Wonders of the World, Seven Colors of the Rainbow, and Seven Harry Potter books. The night before my wedding, my then-fiancée and I hosted a “night at the races” pre-wedding party at a local horse racing track outside of Philadelphia. The seventh horse in the seventh race was named “Michele du Nord” (Michele of the North). I placed a bet on it to win. And it did! I saw this as a promising omen for our future life together since my wife is not only named Michele, but also, being from Canada, she was literally Michele of the North.
I feel like I have strayed off from the point I was trying to make. Where was I going, anyway? Oh, right. My point is that in many ways, my life on a 1-to-10 scale has also been like the number 7. Not a perfect 10, but far from a 1 or 2. So many aspects about my life, my experiences, and my capabilities could be ranked as a 7, in other words, Above Average.
You can call me Mr. Above Average – because in most things, that’s where I tend to land – unless it’s knowing how to build or fix ANYTHING on my own. Then I’m an absolute zero. I love sports of all kinds: tennis, racquetball, pickleball, golf, you name it. How good am I? I’m slightly above average in almost all of these sports, about a 7. People who excel at sports love to play me because they are all but assured of winning and feeling better about their athletic prowess afterwards.
It’s been this way most of my adult life – except when it came to the joys and struggles of parenting – in which case I routinely felt like a ping pong ball bouncing back and forth from a joyful 10 to an exasperated 3 (or a lower number during their teenage years). Parenting is an extreme sport.
I’ll admit I’m no 10 in the looks department. In my heyday, nobody ever compared me to Brad Pitt or Paul Newman. Although once someone said I looked like I could be John Lithgow’s brother for some reason. (I was never sure whether that was a compliment or an insult.) As for my wife, I’d have to say in terms of the 1-to-10 scale of physical perfection, she is probably a.. um…Perfect 10! (Every once in a while, she reads this column, so why take chances?)
Ever since I was a young boy, I’ve loved sports of all kinds. I play tennis, golf, pickleball, basketball, skiing, and many others. The one thing all these sports have in common is that I’m not great at any of them. I’m just okay, slightly above average really. Pretty much like most things I set my mind to in life.
I have come to terms with the fact that I don’t really excel at most things in life. (That said, I can microwave a “perfect 10” frosted cinnamon pop tart, but I’m not sure that’s worth bragging about.) I envy people with remarkable talents, like my wife’s incredible skill as a portrait artist. Many of my closest friends have exceptional skills like my friend Jerry who built his own home. It seems that most people who live in my community are extremely artistically gifted. That’s why I’ve unfriended most of them on Facebook.
I have long ago decided that for most things in my life good enough is, well, good enough – except when it comes to pizza, in which case, good enough simply won’t do. When I have a serious pizza craving, I refuse to cut corners. (I’m talking to you, Dominos.)
I don’t feel bad that I can’t afford the fanciest new car. I don’t beat myself up that I lack the ability to create stunning works of art like my life partner or play the piano like a prodigy. I’m content to live an above average life, take an above average hike in the woods, relax on the couch patting our above average cats while watching an above average detective series on Netflix. And a couple times a week, I will go to the local pickleball courts to lose several games to older players who are much more above average than I am.
As I looked over this week’s column, I have to say, it’s not one of my best. But it’s not one of my worst. I’d say it’s above average. And that’s okay with me.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
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