Long ago and not so far away, I was 40 years old and thought too old to live.
That was then and I was such a fool, cause 20 years have passed and I am still around.

The above statement was written while Karen Carpenter was in my mind singing, "Long ago, and oh so far away I fell in love with you before the second show....." Anyway, time sure does fly! It was way back then that I started writing for Green Banner Publications. I primarily covered the news of Sellersburg for The Leader but also covered sports for a number of high schools in Clark County and during tournament time some in Harrison and Scott Counties. I also had a column called "If You Want To Know What I Think" that ran in the Leader, Banner Gazette, Giveaway and the other papers at GBP. I enjoyed writing those more than any other part of my job and from the response I got, many readers felt the same. So, after ten years, I have decided to come out of retirement and see if anyone still wants to know what I think.
For those that know me by my writing I will tell you that no, I haven't gotten over myself. I am worse. Knowing how I nearly became apoplectic when each birthday came around, can you imagine how I felt this October 4 when I turned 62, an age that should belong to my mother, God rest her soul. And no, I still haven't had a face lift and you can imagine how badly I need it now. Plus, I have G.L.O.W. I'll let you figure that one out. I'll just say it isn't because I'm "with child". Can you imagine 62 and preggo?? Which brings me to my first rant. This trend of saying "we're pregnant" is bovine dung. Do WE have to eat crackers every morning before raising our heads from the pillow so we can make it to the bathroom before spewing? Do WE see our bodies morph into kangaroos with no tails to balance our overloaded fronts? Do you know what that does to our backs? Do WE have to try putting on shoes or shaving our legs with an over inflated basketball in our laps? Listen, you can end up going out in bunny slippers with bloody bunnies. Do WE experience heartburn so bad you would swear you were carrying Satan's child and it's tail was sticking up your throat? Do WE suffer labor pains so bad you think a volcano is erupting inside you? And do WE have to listen to some ditzy nurse tell us our screams waste energy we should be putting into breathing or pushing? I told one nurse where she could blow! Do WE have to push through the pain until you think your brains have squirted through your hair follicles and are dripping down your face? Do WE have to push hard enough send a rocket across the Grand Canyon only to have someone say, "You have to get more umph behind those pushes now sweetie."? Do WE have to display the most private of our privates to a whole crew of people who keep lying to you about how much longer your torture will be and whose heads you are going to snap off with your tongue as soon as you push Sasquatch junior out of your body? And finally, do WE end up with a crop of hemorrhoids as the "proof of birth" stamp in case we forget who did what that day? Oh no. You fathers get to watch (or faint), cut the cord and be the first to hold the baby. Dear pregnant ladies, don't give part of our most important purpose, the one thing men cannot do, over to them. Until they can carry and deliver more than pizza, men cannot share being pregnant. They can get you that way but when you are lying there believing you could actually be delivering a hippopotamus, you will discover your man won't be lying down to take his turn on the delivery table. Repeat, "I'm pregnant. He's the father. I"m pregnant. He's the father."