Old...

So, I've accepted that I am officially old. Not the gracefully aging mellow kind, but the “Damn kids! Get off my lawn!!” kind.

You're probably thinking, “But you don't have gout, that was a broken toe. Plus you are always coaching dek hockey. Surely it's just a bad day and you're really not old.”

No, this time I have to admit it. It all started innocently enough (All great tragedies do. I'd imagine Hitler started with, “I really don't like how that hat looks...” and the next thing you know, World War II...) We were on the beach at Cane Bay in Saint Croix. My son and I'd just finished a scuba dive and we were all going to eat lunch at the restaurant.

It was one of those idyllic days. Warm water, sand and sun. There were even a couple of showers rolling through to break up the heat and lead you to think you didn't need sunscreen...

My wife asked how I liked the music. Like most places on the island, the restaurant was open-air. So you had a great view of the ocean and could feel the breeze coming off the water. All in all, it was (keyword-was) one of our favorite places to eat and spend an afternoon. We've made a lot of memories there over the past five years. It was the first place my daughter danced while she ate. (no, literally danced WHILE she ate.) My son had his post-dive drink there (non-alcholic).

The music she was referring to was the live band that was setting up. Being open-air, we could hear it clearly from the beach. The woman singing, I thought, was pretty good. So, we decided that it would be fun to enjoy the live music while we ate.

My wife went and got us a table while my daughter and I finished playing in the sand and rain. (Yes, it was sprinkling, but that didn't phase my daughter. Anytime you can combine water with playing, she is completely involved. The only chance I had was to remind her that we were getting french fries.)

So, how does all this confirm that I am old? After all, playing in the sand with an almost-nine-year-old is hardly the act of of someone that is old? (My daughter was not helping my age-of-mind either. Several times, I've been told, “Daddy, I can do it. I'm not a little girl anymore.”)

I'll tell you. When we got up the restaurant, I saw the size of the speakers the band was using. They were bigger than the stage they'd set up on. I sat down and I think the waitress asked what I wanted to drink. We screamed back and forth at each other for a couple of minutes before I gave up and just nodded and hoped whatever she brought would have a lot of alcohol in it.

When we first started diving, we were taught how to clear the pressure in your ears. This is important because the deeper you go, the more the pressure builds and the more it hurts. Eventually, your ear drums will explode. In addition to the deafness, I've heard this is rather painful. As I sat there being pummeled by the music, exploded ear drums gained more and more appeal.

Don't get me wrong. I like loud music. I also like to be able to understand the words, (Yes, they were singing in English.) You might be thinking, but it's all perspective. Shut up and listen. (This is where it hit me. I actually started thinking (Because there were no way I was going to be able to have a conversation is my (equally) aged wife.)--this is a direct thought-quote-- “I remember when music was good.”)

Back in my day, we had MUSIC, not this noise the kids are listening to today. And the bands had talent. I remember the Blue Oyster Cult concerts we'd go to every summer. (I'd still have the t-shirts, but my wife threw them away a long time ago.) There was also Pink Floyd and Black Sabbath. Back then the concerts were loud, but even then, the speakers weren't as big as the ones this group was using. Back then, everyone sang along with the band because you could understand the words and tune. Back then, if the band stopped in the middle of a popular song, the fans kept singing and it sounded like MUSIC.

There is also another huge difference in today's music. Back then, music got better the more you drank. This music only got more tolerable the more I drank. Hold on here comes the waitress, I need to get some oxygen so we can scream at each other again...