OK 50, here I come ready or not

They are dropping like flies.

At first, it was just one or two, but gradually the wave built until it was a tsunami of birthday celebrations with just about everyone I know being clobbered by the big 5-0.

My high school classmates and many people I work with and go to church with are succumbing to the half-century mark with alarming frequency.

It seems like I can not open FaceBook anymore without seeing someone being consumed by the five-decade milestone.

But the more candles on your cake the better off you are.

I can remember when I turned 20 – sort of. It was a party and a good time. It was a little more concerning when I turned 30 because for some reason, that was a big number for me.

I really appreciated my youth and 30 was definitely not a kid anymore.

Even at 29 you could say, 'Hey I'm still in my 20s,' but at the stroke midnight on the day I was born the calendar decreed I was no longer a 20-something. I was now a 30-something and that felt different for some reason.

By the time I was 31 I had two little kids to worry about and a couple years later the third installment of the Handschuh clan made an appearance so I was far too busy – and tired – to really worry about 40 that was coming at me like I was a deer in the middle of the road, blinded by the oncoming high beams of middle age.

Forty did not come with dread, but was pushed to the side as the chaos of life with three kids took precedent over being concerned with becoming an old guy,

Fast forward nine years and nine months and I am once again staring an age milestone in the face.

This time, however, the kids are older, more independent giving me more time to play the part of a deer that is about to get splatted by the oncoming freight train that is Father Time.

In three months, I will no longer even be a 40 something, but will cross that great divide of age and be a 50 something.

OK, so what does a 50 something act like? I still like motorcycles, like I did when I was 20. I am still doing martial arts, like I did when I was 30. I am the oldest person in my martial arts club, by the way and everyone knows the single most important rule the club has is 'Don't hurt the old guy.'

If my fellow - and much, much younger – students remember just one thing, I hope that is it. For the majority of the people in the club I am old enough to be their parent, and for the little kids even a grandparent and I...Whoa, hold it, I just crossed a line. I am not willing to refer to myself as a grandpa just yet.

Grandpas, and grandmas, are old. I mean my dad was 52 when he became a grandpa and I...uh oh.

Hmmm, I know my own grandpa always seemed old, but he would have been in his 50s when his grandchildren started showing up.

I am not saying there is anything wrong with being a grandparent and I admit it will be kind of cool to be able to play and have fun with little kids until I get tired and then just hand them over to their parents, but I am not ready to go there just yet.

How can I be a rebel, a renegade, a free spirit if I am a grandpa. It just does not seem right.

It is just another aspect of reaching the half century mark I am trying to wrap my brain around.

Before you can be old and wise, you have to be young and stupid. I did very well in the young and stupid department, now I just need some of that wisdom to kick in.

Copyright 2014 Darren Handschuh

A sad week, but also an interesting one

I can say one thing about the past week, it has been interesting.
Often, one day blurs into the next as we trudge through our daily routines without giving life and what it has to offer much thought.
You get up, you to to work, you come home, you go to sleep, you get up, you go to work...
It's like being on a treadmill without the benefit of burning calories and losing weight.
Some people live more rambunctious lives where they are always going somewhere and doing something, but for the majority of us, life boils down to routine with the occasional break known as a vacation.
This is where we leave our big home to rent little homes in places we don't live in an effort to put the daily grind on hold for a couple weeks and get refreshed and recharged.
Sometimes we even bring little, portable homes with us to live in as we explore other parts of the world. Other times, we rent those little homes and who doesn't like staying at a hotel where you don't have to make your own bed, tidy up or even cook?
But this past week, the usual murmuring of my weekly routine was thrown into a tailspin by two events: one I had no control over, but the other was by my own hand.
The first was the memorial service for my mother in law. A much-loved member of our family, the service brought siblings, friends and family members from far and wide to pay their respects. My usually quiet home became the gathering point for many of the out-of-towners. It was good to see them and it definitely broke with routine.
The other event that changed my week was my column on depression that was published last Sunday.
The admission I struggle with mental health issues has put me in touch with a lot of people who walk a similar path.
It is a dark path and at times a very dangerous path, but what can be perceived as a lonely, desolate trail winding its way through the dark forest of an unsettled mind, is actually full of people all looking for the same thing: peace and freedom.
Many people relayed stories of their own struggles with depression and a couple even said I may have saved lives by writing what I did. I don't know about that, and never even thought of it in those terms. I just felt the time was right to bring the darkness into the light.
Many called it brave, but to be honest with you I never saw myself as being brave for writing about it.
I just wanted people to know they are not alone in their struggles, that help is available and that the narrow path is actually a six-lane super highway crammed with people walking the same walk.
It is not a case of misery loves company, but strength in numbers.
I have been encouraged, buoyed and, I must admit, a little relived to find so many kindred spirits out there.
It was interesting to hear from friends and co-workers who had no idea of the near incapacitating pain that accompanies me on so many occasions. I guess I really did hide it well.
I wonder how many other people suffer in silence. How many others are out there think they are alone. How any others are sitting silently, isolated by the darkness.
The issues of mental health were brought to the forefront by the suicide of actor Robin Williams earlier this month.
But it won't be long before the fervor calms down as the next topic of the day grabs the public interest and the focus on mental health will fade. But hopefully, out of the tragedy of his death can come the victory of awareness and healing.
Talking about it will break down the stigma surrounding mental health issues, and hopefully it will show people they are not the only ones and help is at hand.

Copywrite 2014 Darren handschuh

Grandma, you are simply the best

It was one of those moments you remember forever.

An instant in time seared into your brain with details as vivid and sharp as they day it happened – and I was only four.

Me, my sisters and a couple of cousins were visiting Grandma one hot summer day and we were playing a game where you could not touch the ground.

It was, of course, molten lava (like all suburban driveways are) so we would jump from the stairs to the hood of Grandma’s 1969 Chevrolet Impala.

There were no concerns about damaging the car. Those old Chevies were so tough you could drive a tank over them and, more than likely, you would damage the tank.

The game was simple: whoever touches the ground is turned into a flaming puddle of goo by the roiling ocean of lava that, although deadly, could not hurt a Chev Impala.

We were playing in the carport because it was pouring rain outside. There was also plenty of thunder and flashes of lightning, but we had bigger concerns. We had to survive the deepest reaches of the lava-filled jungle.

One of us would jump onto the stairs and the rest would follow, we would then jump back onto the car as part of our daring adventure.

In grandma’s backyard was a clothesline. One end was attached the house, the other to a large steel pole at the far end of the yard.

When lightening struck that pole it was the loudest bang I have ever heard in my life. (I still get a little freaked out by loud bangs.)

Grandma was looking out the back window and saw the 1.21-gigawatts of electricity hit the pole.

She watched as a surge of electricity spread out across the lawn in an electric blue colour. She saw it head along the clotheline – straight for the carport.

We heard the bang and saw a flash, but were unharmed because we were all on the car and the rubber tires insulated us from the free-range voltage.

We then screamed at the top of our lungs and made a mad dash for the safety of the house, and more important, the safety of Grandma who we knew was bigger and stronger than whatever it was that caused that bang.

We reached the door the same time grandma did and five scared, crying and very freaked out kids wrapped ourselves around her like we were made of Velcro.

With the right proportion of cookies and hugs, Grandma calmed us all down and we decided to spend the rest of the day in the safety of Grandma’s presence.

My children recently lost some of that safety when their Grandma, my wife’s mother, passed away.

It is a big loss for our family as she was a much-cherished member of our clan.

I poked fun at her on occasion in this very column, but she knew how much I loved her and how important she was to us all.

She was a woman of amazing faith and strong character.

She loved to laugh and had a wonderful sense of humour. I would like to say she lived a life of luxury and privilege, but it was a life of trial and hardship.

From losing her mom when she was nine and being raised in foster care, to struggling with a variety of health challenges, life was not always easy for Kathleen Rose.

She faced more than her share of hardships, but through it all she never lost faith in her God, she never put her own needs before others and she had a heart of gold like few people I have ever met.

It was a sad day when she passed. We walked around in a daze, not wanting to believe what reality was telling us.

Tears came easy those first couple of days, slowly replaced by the constant gnawing of knowing she gone.

I know the pain will subside over time, but I also know there will always be an empty space in our lives.