Approaching on tiny,tiny cat feet.

This was my first "experimental" blog. I believe a cursory reading of same will affirm that statement. It was never published until today when I found I had a lot of extra time on my hands and did not want to perform physical labor.





Even after my feeble attempts at editing, this blog almost didn't make the cut. It contains a bit of self disclosure that some might find uncomfortable. , Howeever, I decided, if you can't self-disclose at this age, at what age do you start?


It is suggested you read it only at your own peril. It's a long sucker and sort of adopts a life of it's own. It does have a lot of short paragraphs, if that's any solace.




Male aging is fascinating but it is not for the weak in spirit or faint of heart.





Kathy, a neighbor, recently asked me (a whiskey tenor/baritone - who smoked too much in his life) to accompany her in the impressive ministry she started: visiting and singing to Alzheimer patients in local facilities.




I agreed to this as: I love to sing - remain a huge "Ham" - and need a ministry also, at this point in my life. I reasoned - (and please believe me, I did so, lovingly): "Who in the audience was going to complain later that I stunk up the joint and ruined the act?"



My life takes different twists and turns, occasionally ending up on The Road Less Travelled - a highly recommended book, by the way.









When I was in my early 40's I enrolled in graduate school to study Marriage & Family counseling. My motives were not entirely altruistic.





I did so for various reasons including a curiosity as to whether, in graduate school, I could improve upon my extremely low undergraduate GPA which I believe still holds the record for a graduating senior at Duquesne University, a fine Catholic school in Pittsburgh.







The Holy Ghost Fathers almost literally pushed me out the door. I'm sure it wasn't just because I, a transfer from a excellent Protestant based school, continued to remain standing at the start of many of our classes in the late 50's. I was the "Last Man Standing" as I mistakedly finished what I believed to be The Lord's Prayer.







My main paper in graduate school was a study addressing the onset of (MM) male menapause - a subject discussed by few at the time despite an increasing awareness of it's effect on their lives by thoughtful men everywhere who were going through it.




It turns out our collective ignorance could easily be explained. Research material available to me as I prepared the paper was sparse. Some so-called "experts" in the study of male behavior even denied it's existance. I muddled on, finished the paper, and received faint praise for my efforts.









We MM victims knew better than the "so-called experts". Even men go through a change of life. If you doubt it - ask your wife or significant other.





It was a fascinating time for me and those friends and family members who were impacted by my new and often erratic behavior. Truth be told, it was me more than anybody who wanted to know the answers to the questions : "What's going on here? What's causing me to have the thoughts I have? Why do I want to change my life?"







My chosen goal to obtain a degree in Counseling did much to clarify those concerns. I began to recognize the symptoms for what they really were.







In many, but certainly not all, instances, MM came from a struggle with a fear of failure. There were a lot of guys, like me, who were late bloomers. Like today's baby-boomers down the road who had to postpone their retirement dates due to the recession, we in the 1970's had some catch-up to do, as well.



Upon recognizing this dilemma we felt we did not have the proper legacy that we had expected for ourselves at this time in our life. H-E-L-L-O!







Please understand this, and what briefly follows on the subject, is an oversimplification. To embellish this topic would preclude all of us from maintaining the appropriate hours of prescribed sleep time required if we want to have strong and healthy bodies.







MM is a very complex subject and more is becoming known about it every year. It would be interesting to cross-reference the subject with the causes of the ethical mess we find ourselves in today.







It is true that some of my co-victims were more concerned over what they perceived as a lack of success with the opposite sex. In some instances , they felt that "time was a-wasting". Many concluded , at the risk of sounding salacious, that their guns lacked the appropriate number of notches at this time in their life. And, that's as far as I wish to go with that theory, as well.







My case was more a concern for my own legacy, and my past tendency to rest on the few laurels cast in my direction. I felt it was now time to eliminate some of my slacker ways. This perceived legacy deficiency was notwithstanding my rabbit like propensity to beget a increase in our local population base at a very young age..







I declare this only because I want to make it clear, from that aspect , and only one accepted measurement of legacy, I remain very proud of my kids and what they have accomplished.







I finished my graduate study and the school gave me a formal piece of paper suggesting I now might be qualified to be a honest to gosh counselor.









That's also what I sought - authenticity. I had often been accused of being a "good listener", which is like hearing that your proposed blind date had a great personality. But, now that I had my degree I would no longer have to partially disrobe to counsel. Let me explain.









I did a lot of my early "counseling" in bars. My client list was eclectic and, like the unfortunate population referenced above, few of these early clients would probably recall the advice they sought and I furnished.









Always "da ham", and slightly influenced by one of Scotland's favorites home brews, I dispensed same with style. To do so, I got into what I felt was appropriate counseling mode.











I usually wore either a blue or black blazer, acceptable working garments at the time. I would first remove the blazer du jour and place it on my body, backwards. The rear of the coat now became the front. After I extended my hands through the sleeves, the collar of the coat covered most of my white dress shirt collar and tie except for a sliver of white. (Yes, we still wore ties then.)











The transposition almost complete, I wrapped the blazer around me as best I could. and proclaimed in my best stentorian tones, "Fa-a-tha Is In!"
This was not entirely illogical to me as, at the time, I was starting to experiment with an obscure red wine whose container proclaimed: "Made By Monks" (No doubt a precursor to my MM)













Ah, those were the days - or nights.











But now, at the end of my years of counseling study, I had documentation in my sweaty hands from a respected university suggesting I did not have to be inebriated to dispense advice. As a matter of fact, I think the professors even discouraged that approach.











I had a feeling of accomplishment. I unabashedly disclose I received all A's and one B. The latter "gift" was from a friend of mine, a PHD, who later headed up the department. His reason for the "B" was that I failed to disclose my life sufficiently in the Group Counseling class he supervised.









Well, if you have read this far - I'm sure you'd agree - he'd certainly be proud of me now - if he read this initial blog - warts and all. Heck, I'm even self-disclosing to strangers - let alone my fellow "groupees".











Back to the beginning. Kathy and I have completed two "gigs" and have another one scheduled . I find, in my early 70's, I am as fascinated about Alzheimers as I was about male menapaus in my 40's. I enjoy performing for the Alzeimer patients, speaking with them, and collecting articles as to the cause of this debilitating condition.


Could a Doctorate be in my future?