The Middle-Aged Man and the Aging Parents

Posted on by under Family, Self

I am just shy of 60 years old and both of my parents are still alive. I’m pretty sure this is unusual and puts me in the minority.

Most of the people who are my friends or acquaintances have at least one parent who has passed on. The fact that I have both still above ground puts me and my brother and sister in a small club.

According to research conducted last year, 45% of people who are 59 have at least one parent still alive. That drops to 10% when turning 60. Other research says that upon reaching age 50, the percentage of people who have both parents still alive is around 40%.

To be frank, to have both parents still alive at this stage of life is a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing of course for the obvious reasons; I am able to talk with them, either in person or on the phone, and thus am able to share in their lives for a little bit longer. It is a widely held belief that people like me are fortunate to have both parents still around.

My mother presenting me with a birthday cake, August 1978

But there’s the other part. I would have thought that by the time I was 60 I would be out from under the scrutiny of my parents, free to live my life on my own terms. I have a wife and children to consider; I don’t enjoy having parents to consider as well. They are both set in reasonably comfortable living situations in continuing care and retirement communities (separately because they are divorced). But with every year I and my siblings are taking on more and more responsibility for their financial and health needs, things they can no longer sufficiently do for themselves or that the CCRC is unable or unwilling to do.

I’m not suggesting they depart to suit my needs. However, each passing year adds to the strain. I know it won’t go on forever but there’s a part of myself that I hold in reserve that is directly related to this situation. When will I visit them next? And which one do I visit next, since they don’t live in the same CCRC, or the same city for that matter? What if I have to travel to one of them on short notice because of a medical or other crisis? Is each visit going to be my last visit? Do I need to be still concerned about their expectations for me? Is there something between us that remains to be said?

None of these would be an issue in an alternative situation.

Much as been made of the sandwich generation, often defined as people with at least one parent still alive and at least one adult child receiving financial support. To the casual observer it seems like a minor issue but I’m here to tell you, it is not.

Among other things, parents present something of a conundrum. They beget you in a moment of intimacy that lasts a few minutes at best. Then you are their child for eternity–for better or for worse. It is often said that we don’t choose the families we are born into. Instead we have to make the best of the situation we find ourselves in, and that situation can create financial or emotional pressure that at times can be unpleasant.

In some cultures, much is expected of children with regard to their parents. This includes honoring all of their wishes and financially supporting them through death and burial. If there are people–and I know that they are out there–who have long-standing disagreements with their parents and yet still must honor their wishes and financially support them, I imagine that can create a serious strain.

I am not in that position, thankfully. Even so, I often wonder what it will be like when the day comes. Will I weep? Will I feel relief? I don’t know, and cannot know, until it happens. Because I am just shy of 60 years old and have never known a day in my life without my parents.

Religions of the World and A World of Religions

Posted on by under Connection

There was a period of time when the term “Turk” was synonymous with “Muslim,” even though Islam originated from Mecca, Arabia.

Most Turks are Muslim, but any Turk will tell you that they are not Arab.

Kurds are Muslim but are neither Turkish nor Arab.

Old Mosque, Edirne, Turkiye. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia

Moroccans are predominantly Muslim and speak Arabic but do not identify as Arab.

The Lebanese are usually classified as Arab, but there are Lebanese Muslims and Lebanese Christians.

The nation with the highest population of Muslims is Indonesia, where they are neither Arab nor speak Arabic.

The people of Pakistan are predominantly Muslim and their official language is Urdu. Urdu is essentially Hindi, but is written in Arabic script, whereas Hindi is written in Indic script. People who speak Hindi are predominantly of the Hindu religion.

The people of the Balkan countries of Croatia, Serbia, and Bosnia are Slavs and all speak a language that is mutually understood among them all. The only thing that separates them is that Serbians are Orthodox Christians, Bosnians are mostly Muslim, and Croatians are Catholic.

Most Latinos identify as Catholic, but for many their religious practice incorporates elements from pre-Hispanic, indigenous faiths that do not align with what is in the Bible and are not sanctioned by the Vatican.

I could go on, but I think the point is made. Religion is, paradoxically, something that both unifies and divides people. For many, one’s religion is both a form of practice and something internalized as a facet of one’s identity, much like ethnicity and language. Many will say that their religion is the true religion and all others are wrong, each pointing at the other.

In addition, it’s tempting to assume that the people who adhere to a particular religion all act the same way and believe the same thing, the concept of a cultural monolith. The reality is that religion, like culture, is diverse and messy. A statement that begins, for example, with “all Muslims are…” will likely miss the mark.

With this in mind, if religion is a search for truth as some would suggest that it is, it seems worth examining why there are so many different religions, different versions of the same religion, and different interpretations of religious doctrine and ritual.

Some say that religion causes more problems than it solves. I say that it is the misapplication and misinterpretation of religion that causes the problems. It is the conflation of cultural preferences with religious truths. It is making religion your cultural or political identity in the place of following the actual tenets of the faith that leads to problems. It is the imposition of “the one” religion upon others who may disagree with that assessment that creates conflict.

If we acknowledge that some people feel they need religion to get by — irrespective of who is “right” — wouldn’t it simplify things if we could whittle it down a bit, such that we have those who follow a religion on one side and the non-religious on the other? Couldn’t we then at least identify that something is being done because of religion, instead of dressing it up as nationality, ethnicity, or political leanings? It would be far more transparent, while also not muddling the religion they claim to represent.

In the meantime, there are hundreds of religions, with hundreds of permutations within each religion, and the only logical way for all of this to coexist is religious tolerance. Get rid of dressing up political rallies as religious events. Dispense with declaring that some form of cultural practice is ordained by a god. End the practice of committing violence against those who don’t believe as you do.

And get back to a place where religion actually provides harmony and value, a place of faith, hope, and love.

****

“Today, religious tolerance and cooperation among Americans cannot simply be a pragmatic or utilitarian undertaking, a mere accommodation to the fact of diversity. No, the source of your commitment to religious freedom is itself a deep religious conviction. Religious tolerance is based on the conviction that God wishes to be adored by people who are free: a conviction which requires us to respect and honor the inner sanctuary of conscience in which each person meets God.” – Pope (now Saint) John Paul II (1995)

The Pink Soccer Cleat

Posted on by under Society

When I was younger I played soccer, first for my town’s recreational league and then for my high school.

Back then, soccer cleats (a.k.a. football boots) were available almost always in black. Black was what customers demanded and black was what manufacturers provided. It didn’t matter the brand–addidas, Nike, Mitre, Puma, whatever–black was it.

Sometimes there were a few other color options, however. And when I was in high school I bought a pair of cleats that were white. They were in my size and a good price, so that’s what I got.

Wearing them to practice and during games, I got a lot of ribbing from my teammates. That I stood out from all the other players was one of the nicer comments I remember.

It bothered me that I was being noticed not for my ability or my contributions to the team, but instead for my nonconformity. If I was a valuable asset to the team, I didn’t think it should matter what color my cleats were.

Fast forward to 2026 and I’m watching some of the games of this year’s World Cup tournament. And what do I see? Almost all the players are wearing cleats that are not black, but pink!

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS – JUNE 06: Players of United States pose for a team photograph prior to the international friendly match between United States and Germany at Soldier Field on June 06, 2026 in Chicago, Illinois. (Photo by Jamie Squire/Getty Images)

Literally every team seems to accept that pink is the new black. And it appears to be true of more than one brand of shoe.

According to news outlets, this is because players want to stand out. There is a “high demand for bolder colors” because the players claim that it gives them confidence. I initially thought that the pink color was a sign that the players were making some kind of statement in support of women’s health or Pride Month. But no, it is simply because having fancy colored cleats juices their game.

By that logic, my white cleats should have been a benefit both to me personally and to the whole team. If I had an increase in confidence because of my footwear, then our overall gameplay would have improved and it would have been welcomed. But that’s not how I remember it.

What I remember is that I was the odd man out. And if this is how I remember feeling, I can only begin to imagine what it was like for the one Asian-American guy on our team, who took an unnecessary amount of racial verbal abuse. Or a player who maybe was gay but in the closet.

I suppose that if everyone on the team is wearing pink cleats, then it becomes about conformity again and no one stands out. It’s not the color that matters, it’s how you play the game.

Because sports is very much about conformity. To be on The Team, a player has to toe the line, stay in-bounds, not rock the boat (sorry for the cliches). Those who don’t measure up are harassed, bullied, even assaulted.

Being part of a team shouldn’t feel this way. But so often it does.

I don’t play soccer any more.

The Sheep and the Fortress: An Allegory

Posted on by under Fiction

Once upon a time there was a flock of sheep. They lived and grazed in open fields day after day. They were content and generally got along with each other.

One day, the sheep began to hear rumors about a giant rolling rock ball heading their direction from far away. They could not see the rolling rock, or hear the rolling rock, and the sheep went about their business as if all was well.

Soon, a wolf came to the flock. He was not a bad wolf. Rather, he was a wolf who had traveled far and wide. He knew about the rolling rock and came to talk to the sheep.

“Sheep,” the wolf said. “Listen to me. I will be building a fortress of stone to protect us from the rolling rock that is coming this direction. There will be room enough for all you, and you are all welcome to join me inside at no cost to you.”

The sheep were not very interested. Many did not believe the rumors that the rolling rock was coming. They continued to go about their business as if all was well.

The wolf began to build the fortress. The sheep paid little attention as day after day the fortress got bigger and stronger, until at last it was finished. By this time, some of the sheep had heard the sound of the rolling rock, or heard from sheep who had seen the rolling rock.

“Sheep,” the wolf said. “The fortress is finished. The rolling rock is getting closer. You are welcome to come inside and be safe.”

A few of the sheep went into the fortress, but the rest remained in the fields. They did not trust the wolf, and they thought that the sheep who went into the fortress were gullible and stupid. How could something like a rock be so dangerous? they wondered aloud.

The next day, the wolf again invited the sheep into the fortress, but they refused. Now the rolling rock could be seen on the horizon, heading their direction. The sheep wondered aloud how any fortress built so quickly could be any good.

The next day, the wolf again invited the sheep into the fortress, and again they refused.

“Why do you not come inside the fortress and be safe?” the wolf asked.

“You are lying,” the sheep said. “We don’t trust you.”

“Why don’t you trust me?” the wolf asked.

“Because you are a wolf,” the sheep said.

“Who do you trust,” the wolf asked. The sheep thought about this for a while.

“We trust other sheep,” the sheep said.

“Who else do you trust,” the wolf asked. The sheep again thought about this for a while.

“We trust the shepherd,” the sheep said. “If the shepherd tells us that it is safe inside the fortress, then we will go in.”

So the wolf went to talk to the shepherd. As soon as the shepherd saw the wolf approaching his home, he grabbed his gun and shot the wolf. The shepherd did not trust the wolf either. The wolf died on the spot where he fell.

The next day, the rolling rock arrived and crushed most the sheep in the flock, and they died. The rock struck the fortress and caused some damage but the walls held fast and those who were inside were unharmed.

The next day, the shepherd came to the field of dead sheep. He was not concerned that the rolling rock had crushed them. He skinned them all and butchered them. He was pleased to be well stocked in meat and wool for a very long time.

The sheep inside the fortress came out and started a new flock. As they moved from pasture to pasture, they came upon other sheep. They told the other flocks about the rolling rock and how the wolf saved them with his fortress and how the shepherd did nothing to help them. The other flocks did not believe this story.

Years went by, and everyone forgot that this ever happened.

The End

Not As Hoped

Posted on by under Family, Health Care, Loss

August 3, 2021 — my birthday — my wife and I were enjoying our first overnight trip since the Covid-19 pandemic began in early 2020. We didn’t know then that it would be the last we’d have together living with the independence we take so much for granted.

We decided to keep it simple, making a road trip from our Maryland home to Pennsylvania and spending time at various points of interest in the southeastern part of the state.

We had a lovely lunch in Havre de Grace, Maryland, in the outdoor seating of a restaurant overlooking the Susquehanna River.

My wife at Tyler Arboretum

We stayed in a hotel in Chadd’s Ford. From there we visited the Tyler Arboretum and the town of Media, where we did some shopping and bought bubble tea.

We had a great dinner for my birthday, outdoors at a nearby restaurant. The summer Olympic Games were occurring in Tokyo, postponed from the year before, and we watched a few events on the television that night.

Our children were off living their lives, moving ahead after the long wait caused by Covid-19. Both called that day.

That summer our oldest had moved out to begin graduate school at Pennsylvania State University. He called to discuss how he and his girlfriend were settling in at their new apartment.

Our youngest was working at a summer camp as a counselor. He called to share how things were going, along with some frustrations regarding the camp staff and how situations were being handled.

Despite the fact that our kids were elsewhere — or maybe because of it — my wife and I felt that we’d mostly left behind us the concerns and restrictions from the past year and a half. It was an enjoyable bit of freedom.

And of hope. We began to see the light at the end of the dark tunnel created by the Covid-19 pandemic. We were feeling that we’d survived, that life would go on, that we could enjoy some of the dividends of having made it this far — through parenting, through a global contagion, through the more difficult years of our lives.

But all that would be halted just five months later. When my wife experienced a ruptured aneurysm in January of 2022, life would not be as we’d hoped.

We’ve spent the last four years adjusting to what is too easily called the “new normal.” Thoughts of a quick recovery have proven to be unrealistic. My wife lost her job and the ability to do many of the things she enjoyed. She applied for (and ultimately received approval for) federal disability payments.

Instead of living out our later years with travel and some well-earned ease, we are now in the positions of being caregiver taking care of one who’s lost their independence.

Perhaps the timing of it all is what’s most frustrating. We put in the work, we endured the hardships, but now are unable to reap many of the benefits.

It doesn’t feel fair. But I also realize that fairness is not a guarantee for anyone.

What’s left is a constant feeling of discontent, softened now and again by some of life’s simpler pleasures. But I can’t help the urge to look once in a while at what’s not available, and think about whether it might ever be available again.