I’m 33 and I’ve accidentally gotten old. An immediate sign is the fact that I just now had to stop and count to remember how old I was. I figured it would happen someday, but no one looks at a calendar and says, “I’ll bet it’ll happen around here somewhere.” Slowly but surely I act more and more like my father. Perhaps a fitting revelation on the eve of another Father’s Day. I have been spotted recently wearing socks that were inappropriately colored to match their surroundings. Ben Graham would kill me. It’s not that I didn’t notice. I just didn’t have a better color clean and I didn’t care.

More frightening has been my recent outbursts at ignorant young people who are still discovering the physical limits of their parents' car. They can’t hear me. But it makes me feel better to comment. Not a good sign. A giant leap forward in my aging process happened in my backyard. Or maybe, more appropriately, in Steve’s Ace Home and Garden. Once upon a time I only spent time in the backyard to hot tub and fix my motorcycle. Now I MULCH! I found myself wandering through the wonderful aisles of Steve’s looking at garden utensils, flower pots and weed killer. Yes, WEED KILLER! I had a little red basket full of herbs and flower seeds. Good God, I bought flowers! I’m going to take solace in the fact that I only had the basket full of supplies and not the full shopping cart. I know that’s coming next.

Actually, I’m lying. Truth is. I bought so much, I had to have it delivered by a big Ace Hardware truck. Mulch, mulch and more mulch. Potting soil. Grass seed. Hell, It’s like I fell off the gardening wagon and I had never thought I had a problem to start with. I even came home one day and changed from my work pants to shorts. But since I was trying to be fast, I left my black socks on. WITH SHORTS! Now as I wander through my backyard when I come home from the 365 world headquarters at the corner of 1st and Main, I pause to see if my potted plants and herbs need water. I can’t help but notice that my spreading flox are spreading too far and need maintenance. But the yard is nicely mowed. Ah yes, I’ve skipped fatherhood and went straight to hiring someone else to mow my yard. I’m thinking good and hard about doing a controlled burn of all the weeds I’ve killed with Roundup in my gravel parking area. But will I get arrested for doing that in downtown Dubuque? Does an old man attempt such rebellious behavior? So am I going to plateau for a while or continue the slide? I mean my friends and I still sit around the fire pit in my nicely groomed back yard and drink beer before hitting the bars. I still have a rock band that plays songs that were popular in this decade. I’ve not stepped off the ledge with both feet yet, have I? What causes this transformation? Am I mellowing with age? Is it that I’ve done everything wrong at least once and I’m starting to get it right? I think I’ve narrowed it down to a biological culprit. I’m pretty sure my grumpy, yard-grooming traits have coincided directly with the day I suddenly realized the need to groom nose hair. This is a frightening notion for a veritable young man. But not as frightening, I guess, as the inevitable day that one eventually stops grooming nose hair. That day, too, has a correlation. I believe it happens in concert with one’s rediscovery of the joys of elastic waistbands. I await that day with baited breath. By the way, I’ll be playing at the Budweiser True Music Kickoff to Summer un der the Town Clock on Friday, May 26th with the Love Monkeys. Come down early and see how old guys rock.