It is sometimes hard for me now to go back and read the stuff that I have written over the years about my cousin, Fred. His fifties have not been kind to him. Serious back problems, and then a botched knee-replacement surgery. Disability, and early retirement.
We still speak occasionally, but our lives have taken us separately where they will. Fred lives alone now, in a small apartment in Angleton, League City, one of those. Spends his days and evenings, I gather, mostly drinking beer and playing on the computer. He doesn’t even get out anymore, much at all.
He was so vibrant in his prime. With the heart and soul of a lion. One of the reasons I liked being around him so much, back then, was it sort of made me feel that way, too. We were so fucking awesome when we were young. When I think of Fred now, it mostly makes me sad.
Of course, I am writing this having just had one hip replaced and getting ready to have the same done to the other. My future is brighter than Fred’s, but I am not getting any younger, either. The days of leonine glory are long gone, and they are not coming back, ever. I know that.Read More