Like our sly yard cat stalking an unsuspecting mockingbird old-age has a way of slipping up on us unnoticed. We see our old schoolmates and think to ourselves, "Wow, they look really old” oblivious to our own funny gait, our slow rise from a chair, and our not-so-silent moans as we straighten our backs. Then one day, like Paul after his Damascus Road experience, the scales fall off our eyes and we see the wrinkles and the gray hair clearly.
I remember my day well. I had been out running errands. As I walked up to my truck the sunlight created a mirror effect on the door glass. Reaching out for the door handle I was startled to see my daddy looking back at me in the reflection. I stood there for a few long seconds shocked by the reality of this still young soul in an old man's body.
Like Muir’s Stickeen, my father's strength of character lay in his eyes. They looked as old as the hills, and as young, and as wild. And there those young – old eyes were once again probing the depth of my being. Like Diogenes with his lantern, those eyes searched the marketplace of my soul looking for an honest man.