DanMargarita.com

It wasn’t a birthday or some sort of near-death experience that made me aware of my mortality, but dealing with a work-related insurance policy. The option in question was a “death and dismemberment” clause. To my astonishment, I discovered that my family receives no more money for my dismemberment than for my death, making the title of the clause seem merely redundant.

I have no formal medical training, but I’m guessing that one can die without being dismembered but not be dismembered without dying. So if there’s no more money involved in this scenario, why bother to put “dismemberment” in the title? Do I need that image in my head?

Somehow it seemed less gruesome when the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz said “First, they threw my arms over there. Then, they threw my legs over there.”

Thus, if they’re going to mention a potential cause of death in addition to death itself, why choose dismemberment? You could have a “death and asphyxiation” clause, a “death and car-wreck” clause or a “death and falling off the roof and breaking your neck while cleaning the gutters” clause.

In a way, it’s too bad there isn’t more money in being dismembered because then I wouldn’t hesitate to give the following instructions to my friends: If you stumble across my obviously dead, lifeless body and have access to an axe or chainsaw, feel free to go to town on me. Hey, if I’m already dead, what’s the difference? I’m already dead. I’m not going to get any more dead. At least my family would make out better because of it.

Alas, that not being an option, if you come across my obviously dead, lifeless body, I guess you should just call 9-1-1.

Another reminder of the passage of time is my upcoming high school reunion. When I graduated from high school, there weren’t such things as “Minoxidil” or “Viagra” and anyway, at that age we never would’ve thought that we’d ever need them. As we now approach middle-age, we thank God for Minoxidil and Viagra to make us look and feel more like we’re in high school again.

Back then Pope John Paul II was a middle-aged man and if you said “SEE-DEE” you were referring to a cheap motel, not a music disc. An album was the music disc you’d listen to and not just a place to keep photographs.

If you wanted to write to someone, you picked up a piece of paper and a pen. Then you wrote down your message and mailed it in an envelope. In this age of email, the idea of writing a letter now is the equivalent of how we looked at sending a telegram then. Merely a quaint but inconvenient form of communication from a simpler time.

There are other consequences of getting older. A friend about my age was noting the necessity of having to get a prostate exam. He said he went to Dr. So-and-so, because he’d known him for years.

“I figure that if you’re going to have someone stick his finger up your butt, you’d better make sure he’s a friend” he explained.

I replied “If you’re going to have someone stick his finger up your butt, you’d better make sure he’s a doctor.”

(A door opens) “Hi, I’d like to---hey! What the---I just came in to look at wallpaper samples! Well, if I’m going to be bent over in this position, could at least put some samples in front of me?”

Admit it; I just made you long for the image of me being dismembered, didn’t I?