A pirate looks at Forty-something

One of my favorite all-time artists is the late, great Jimmy Buffett. He wrote and performed songs for Parrotheads, like me, for decades.

I’ve always been able to take his lyrics and make it relevant to whatever is going on in my life at that time. “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes” was a song that spoke to me when I was graduating high school. “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere” and “Cheeseburger in Paradise” definitely related to my college days. And don’t even get me started on “Margaritaville.”

Being a Forty-something myself, I’ve recently been reflecting on “A Pirate Looks at Forty.” The song is actually about a real-life drug smuggler that Buffett knew. Since I’m not friends with any drug smugglers (that I know of) I take the words and use them for some self-reflection.

I’ll start with the definition of a pirate. Merriam-Webster defines a pirate as one who commits or practices piracy. My high school English teacher Mr. Matheny always told us to never use the word to be defined in the definition. So, be better Merriam-Webster!

Dictionary.com defines pirate as a person who robs or commits illegal violence at sea or on the shores of the sea. That’s better!

Being that I don’t rob people at sea or know anyone who would do that, this song doesn’t really seem to apply to me. However, pop culture has glorified pirates through books and movies, and made them out to all be more like Captain Jack Sparrow than what they truly were. So, we’ll go with that. Larger-than-life characters who are adventurous and 10-feet-tall and bullet-proof. Now that is definitely how I saw myself in my late teens and twenties. Now we’re getting somewhere!

Then my thirties hit, and the 10 feet shrank to six.

Papa Pirate and Pat the Pirate! (Photo provided by Tim Rathz)

Now I’m in my forties and definitely no longer bullet-proof. How do I know? Little bumps and bruises have become a much bigger deal. Here are some of my forty-something issues:

A few months ago, I was going to the bathroom (onesie) and had to cough. When this happened, all hell broke loose. I could feel that the cough was inevitable while I was standing there doing what I came to do. Since I didn’t want to hose down the entire area while having a violent coughing fit, I braced myself. I tried to hold it back (mistake), but when the cough broke through, it reverberated throughout my entire body and shot pain everywhere. Next thing I knew, I was limping for two days. You heard that right. I didn’t pull a stomach or chest muscle. Oh no, that would have made too much sense. I somehow injured my leg … from a cough. And I wasn’t even successful in saving that area of the bathroom from a tidal wave that I’d rather not discuss.

A couple weeks after the cough-a-sploosh incident, there was a series of stupid injuries that I can only blame on age. After buckling my little girl, Mary, into her booster seat, I bent down to pick up her kitty toy. In doing so, I hit my shin on the car door so hard I can still hear the scream echoes in my garage.

The next day, I shook open a trash bag and hurt my wrist.

I later jumped on the bed while wrestling my little boy, Pat, and had collar bone pain for a week.

I then washed my hands and re-injured my wrist.

Finally, I sneezed and hurt my neck to bring it all full circle. This all happened within a two-month period. I’m almost starting to wonder if it’s safer to go back to my pirating days.

It’s always good to reflect on where you’ve been in life. But never at the expense of where you are now. Enjoy the little things and laugh at the stupid little injuries. They make for great column ideas!

The moral of the story is … It’s fun to be a modern day, adventurous pirate. Just be careful that you don’t pee all over the walls.

Tim Rathz can be reached at 40somethinginfishers@gmail.com. Follow on Facebook or Instagram.