Having spent a career in public education one grows accustomed to the idea that students see their teachers as being old.  If teaching the same grade, the teacher is shocked to realize that each year you get a year older but the age of your students remain the same.  Yep, you get a year older but they don’t.  It does take a while to absorb that little inescapable fact.  Basically, I enjoyed 34 years in public education.

Now that retirement has been entered, for what is perhaps the first time I can allow myself to be the person I’ve always wanted to be.  Enabling this is the constant student driven reminders about my age are not on the daily agenda.  

What you have to understand is this person I’ve always wanted to be has nothing to do with this over-sized decrepit body I’m dragging around.  Occasionally, I’m temporarily overwhelmed by my individual, as well as cumulative frailties.  Those are only temporary and infrequent.

The once barrel chest has become a barrel belly.  What was once a right tightly chiseled physique is now unbelievably fluffy

Facial features don’t seem to be solidly attached.  They have a decided tendency to drooooop, wanting to pile up on this chin.  The chin supporting the slipped facial features must have been lonesome because it adopted two others.  Uh huh, there are now three chins supporting this slowly collapsing face.

What were once the eyes of a sniper are now straining to get a glimpse through a wiggling sea of floaters.  Trifocals are in the foreseeable future.  Hopefully, the trifocals will slow vision that is slipping further down the tube

What was once a trim waistline and butt are now more appropriately measured in acres than inches.   You look at chairs to see if your butt will fit.

The most active part of this body is its bladder and bowels.  When all other bodily functions are slowly deteriorating this pair has kicked in the after burners.  They insist upon making the bathroom, any bathroom, a significant part of my life style.  Age makes you plan your day around bowel movements and bathroom proximity.  When you walk into some place you have never been the first order of business is locating the rest room facility.

I am taken aback by that old, bald headed, fat guy with the beard living in my mirror.  I wonder who he is?  That guy has been living in that mirror long enough to have taken up squatter’s rights.  I also wonder when the one that looked like me left.  I wonder where he went?

The multiple surgeries that never corrected what they were to correct were not totally in vain.  Acid reflux, arthritis, high blood pressure, hemorrhoids, hearing loss, and poor vision force feeds patience.

This litany of diminishing physical abilities could easily stretch further.  Ankles complaining about what is above, bad tempered knees, a back opposed to bending, and what was once pretty phenomenal strength now being the stuff of memory.  Allergies abound.  

Now, before you mistakenly assume this is an essay on foolishness and making light of aging, it is not.  It’s not that at all.  

I have a hobby.  Residing in this hobby is the bulk of my friends.  I would not trade their friendship for hair, for slenderness, or wealth.  I would not even trade those friends for health itself.  It would not be traded even, even if that guy who used to live in the mirror would return.  

As I’ve aged I’ve been convinced it is not a bad thing being nice to yourself.  Not only that, but I’ve learned to be less critical of me.  I don’t chide myself for the bag of cookies or even buying that concrete alligator out on the patio.  It doesn’t cause me any alarm knowing these are the same pants I had on yesterday.  You see, I am convinced I deserve a treat.  I can be messy and not really give a flip about messiness.  Yeah, and I can be extravagant and buy ludicrously silly things.  Added to this is my reenactment friends tolerate me for who I am.  You see they do NOT tolerate me for what I will mature into one day out in unspecified future.  I’m who I am and they accept me, warts, blemishes, and all, the way I am.  That, in and of itself, is pretty amazing.

We will not even mention forgetfulness.  Hey, it’s not all bad.  Look around you, young people, there is a goodly portion of this stuff we call life that is just as well forgotten.  And, in spite of my forgetfulness, I, each time, every time, all the time, eventually remember the important things  These friends of mine are tolerant of me.  They allow me to stagger and rattle around knowing full well I will eventually get to the point.  

From time to time through this life my religion has been tested.  This old heart has suffered a blow, multiples of them.  The kid grew up, got educated, and went off to war.  War wasn’t like the movies.  How can you absorb the loss of a kindly father or when your children needlessly suffer?  If you really want to hurt a parent all you have to do is hurt the child and parental suffering is magnified.  Even a beloved pet lying dead on the street can bring tears to your eyes.  This type of sadness, this grief, and, yes, this broken heart, gives strength, compassion, and maybe, even understanding.  When my dad was laying a corpse in an open casket there in a Meridian, MS, funeral home and four members of the 6th Alabama Cavalry walked through that funeral parlor door, at that very instant, at the exact moment my eyes hit them, I knew it was going to be alright.  Now, now, I’m going to make it.  The support I need is at hand.  I like to think the heart never broken is sadly sterile, dejectedly impotent, and will never know the joy of being like us less perfect beings that have a true need for each other.

One of the advantages of having this many miles on your wheels is you can look backwards and see much, much further than the low drag, high speed, younger crowd.  Having this advantage, it is distressing to look back on the number of friends who have departed this world because they died of being too serious.  They never understood aging also has its opportunities.  Aging offers freedom that youth does not possess.  I can tell the pretty girls they are pretty and they actually take it as a compliment instead of a menacing encroachment.  Because of your age people will generally listen, which is certainly not the case with youth.  Another benefit is you are no longer impressed with the trivial, trite, or tedious.  Through nothing but the perseverance of scores of years you have learned to recognize those transmitters of highest quality of refined and thoroughly composted manure for the fertilizer spreaders they are.  It’s easier to apologize than to argue.  It’s more pleasant being nice than a double holed anus.  When you have the friends with which I have been so abundantly blessed being anything less than pleasant would be a travesty.

What others mistakenly label as eccentricity and peculiarity are actually those with age harshly sorting bright young minds convinced of their correctness in all things.  It’s comfortable knowing you really don’t have to be convinced.  You don’t even have to be impressed. It’s equally comforting that you don’t have to agree.  You can disagree and disagree vociferously while those whose intellect is of the low voltage variety lays it off on your age and/or disabilities.  However, it is sad those room temperature IQ’s will never experience a heat wave.  These friends of mine simply look past my idiosyncrasies and that takes effort, lots of it

Youth has all of the pressure of the future.  Age has the reassurance of the past.  Tie that reassuring past into this Civil War reenactment hobby.  With the call of each reenactment site, living history, and/or memorial service there is a swirl of remembered thoughts and broad smiles.    Each additional name causes even more of a stir.  There is a virtual avalanche of memories, of emotions, of passion, sensitivity, gratitude.  It soon becomes a mental photo album--page after page after turning page.  Youth, with all of its strengths, liberality, passion, zeal, vibrant health, and with the future stridently calling out there in the forefront, doesn’t have that ability.  One day it will, but not today—not yet.

Human frailties, both real and imagined, start piling up with increased age.  Youth doesn’t have the foundation to stand such.  Medication, surgery, infirmity, and illness all take strength.  Strength comes from friendship and God’s grace.

Friendship is one of those invisible commodities that defy descrïption.  It neither decidedly seeks nor purposefully eludes.  Friendship is a blessing.  My blessings of friendship have been multiplied geometrically because of this hobby.

There are those who can drone on and on about what keeps them active in this hobby.  Their reasons are diverse and range from heritage to history and back again.  All of that is well and good.  I applaud them.  Their reasons are commendable.  Maybe at one time, I shared most of those, plus a few of my own.  Now days, propped up on my stick and looking at yet another blasted surgery, mine have been distilled down to just two:  Camaraderie and friends.  Yep, once it’s all shaken out, all I have left is camaraderie and friends.  The camaraderie is exponentially squared.  The friends are my treasures.

So, to answer the question you were too polite to ask, I sort of like being as old as I am.  I’ve grown rather fond of this cussed old goat I have become.  No, I am not going to live forever.  I may not even live much longer.   While I am still here I will not waste any of the allotted time lamenting what might have been or distressing over what will be.  The strength these friends have freely given me has gotten me through the past.  I am convinced it, and the Lord’s continued grace, will suffice for anything the future has to offer.

Curtis,

One of the things I love about the Hobby is that it's given me the opportunity to meet people from all walks of life, and all over the Country, whom I never would have met otherwise. Like you, the people involved with this Hobby are why I still reenact. I wouldn't miss another frosty night with one blanket on the cold ground, but I'd sure miss the shared experience with my friends. After twenty years in the Hobby, I doubt there's an event east of the Mississippi River, where I wouldn't know somebody and be accepted and welcomed. That is truly a good feeling.

My only regret is that it will soon be coming to an end. I attended the 100th Bull Run and Antietam reenactments as a spectator. My guess is I will also be attending the 150th. cycle of events as a spectator. I'll be seventy years old in 2015.  

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My only regret is that it will soon be coming to an end. I attended the 100th Bull Run and Antietam reenactments as a spectator. My guess is I will also be attending the 150th. cycle of events as a spectator. I'll be seventy years old in 2015.

Bill,

Some members of my home unit that I’ve gotten to know over the last six years are also at the same point in their reenacting hobby and it saddens me at the prospect of not being able to enjoy their company anymore.  I'm just hoping that you and all the other veterans members have at least another fives still in you.    

Gosh, you guys must be old.

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hendrickms24 wrote : Bill, I'm just hoping that you and all the other veterans members have at least another fives still in you.

Mark,

Last year, I kept my place in line when we marched up Rich Mountain. This year, I fell out on the march up Stillington's Hill at McDowell. I don't want to get in the position where I can't carry my load anymore. It's just not fair to the other participants. If you can't keep up, it's time to find something else to do.

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Bill wrote : My only regret is that it will soon be coming to an end. I attended the 100th Bull Run and Antietam reenactments as a spectator. My guess is I will also be attending the 150th. cycle of events as a spectator. I'll be seventy years old in 2015.

Bill

You will just need to change your impression so that you can reenact the veterans sitting on the porches of the homes and coming to the reunions.  

Didn't Linda do one of those type of events recently.  I am sure they could use soldiers to push around in wheelchairs..  

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lhsnj wrote :   Didn't Linda do one of those type of events recently.  I am sure they could use soldiers to push around in wheelchairs..

That was organized by Faith Hintzen. We rode in a carriage from downtown Gettysburg to the 8th Ohio monument, then walked to the high water mark and back downtown carrying picnic gear, then after a break walked from downtown to the national cemetery and then back downtown again. I think that's something like 4-5 miles on foot plus a mile by carriage, which I think would compare favorably with some of the shorter distance campaign events.

But seriously, the emphasis on physical ability is only due to reenactor culture I think, and doesn't really reflect the real world of the 1860s. It's just that most reenactors only want to reenact the life of young healthy men, or at least that's the emphasis of most events.

One thing that's always bothered me a little, is that it gives the impression that once a soldier is wounded, his life is of no interest anymore--and that's not even taking into consideration the lives of others who were ill, disabled, frail, or otherwise not worth remembering.

Hank Trent
hanktrent@voyager.net

And don't forget, there's always going civilian!  We could have used additional jurors at the trial event, and stuff like that.  As civilians we have events for all types.  The campaigners might enjoy events like SFS, the 1857 camping trip, or the C&O canal walk.  The older ones enjoy the more stationary events like the Inn at Peak's Mill and the 1864 Trial event.  And sometimes we even get invited to play with the military, and we move around the fields and woods, and such, but don't have to march or move in the blazing sun.

Lots of cool things to do when you start getting too old for the ranks.  And you can always tell stories of being in the militia and maybe even the Mexican War.  In 2015 you can tell us all about your service in the second war with the British.  Ah, the stories one can tell...

Linda.

Folks,

I didn't say I was getting totally out of the Hobby. I said there would be a time to find something different to do.

From the military side of things, there is a mindset that transends the Hobby. It's a pretty simple concept. If you can't keep up, you have become a libility rather than an asset. I don't want to ever find myself in the position of being a libility to my friends.  

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Bill wrote : Folks, I didn't say I was getting totally out of the Hobby. I said there would be a time to find something different to do.

Who's saying your gonna be getting entirely out of the hobby, we're just making suggestions as to where old soldiers go.  Just like in real life they slipped back into civilian life, if they weren't killed in the war, that is.

Linda.

Curtis, you've certainly said a ton.  Thanks.  

I am amazed at how many friends I have made in this hobby.  I have friends in nearly every state now.  What's also amazing is each year I add more and more phone numbers to my cell phone.  I mean a lot of them.  It just reminds me that I'm just a call away from talking to an old friend somewhere in this wonderful country   .

I, too, have made some incredible friends through this hobby, and although not as old as many soldiers in the line, I'm in a transition stage.  Its not really my age (almost 38), but through my personal life I am now trying to be the father I should have been after going to 40 plus reenactments per year for several years and "forgetting" that I had a son at home.  Now that I have him every other weekend and he has reenacted since he was a few weeks old, I now have the honor of portraying a citizen far more than I used to, and I am all the better for it.  With that transition came even more friends.  I won't be completely giving up the soldier life, but I've placed a new focus on civilian life and sharing that with the son is even better, especially since his size at 5  years old is so large I've got him in britches and out of the gowns (nothing better than explaining to people that "cute little girl" is actually a cute little boy!).