Life Lessons at 70

I turned 70 three days ago and lost my last wisdom tooth the day after. I’m not saying the two events are related, but at my age, you have to consider all the possibilities.

My family recently appointed me Patriarch. I didn’t want the job, but it does come with some perks: my Social Security check increased by $1.67; no one will let me lift anything weighing more than 10 pounds; and I can get my grandsons to look under the couch for the marbles I’ve been losing because my knees are several years older than I am and if I get on them I need a hoist to pull me back up. So passing on life lessons that patriarchs naturally absorb during their journey from womb to tomb seems like something a really patriarchal patriarch would do. Not that I want to be Patriarch, but I can use the money.

One of the 6th grade teachers in P.S. 11-Purvis J. Behan Elementary School in Bedford-Stuyvesant was Mr. Da Costa, a Jamaican American who had come up through the British colonial education system. (I was in 6th grade in 1963, one year after the island gained its independence.) Mr. Da Costa was feared. When a student misbehaved in his class, Mr. Da Costa would call the student out. If the student persisted, Mr. Da Costa would call them to the front of the class, tell the student to hold out their hand, and whack the hand with a wooden ruler, sometimes on the knuckles, sometimes on the palm. As the student walked back to his desk, Mr. Da Costa would say, “A word to the wise…” and the class would intone, “Is sufficient.” If the response was not in unison or was not loud enough, he would repeat, “A WORD TO THE WISE…” and the class had better respond like a church choir singing the “Hallelujah Chorus.”

Here are some life lessons from the Patriarch. A word to the wise…

If at first you don’t succeed, take the hint. Some things you get better at with time and practice, like reading and masturbation. For other things, take the hint. It took me too long to realize that I cause more damage as a handyman than Inspector Clouseau caused as a detective. I tried to change the cold water faucet in the shower once. I didn’t realize I had to turn off the water supply first. Getting drenched and mopping up the water was bad enough. The worst part was putting up with my wife’s laughter; I’m sure she called her sisters afterwards. I can’t tell you how many things I’ve taken apart that I couldn’t put back together, even things that had two parts. I’m terrified that if I change a light bulb, the FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force will burst in and arrest me for taking down the electrical grid. I keep tools around only because I’m, you know, a man, and a man has to have at least one tool. Well, at least one tool besides that one.

Be prepared for disappointment. When you’re thinking about having sex for the first time, don’t. I can’t emphasize this enough. Don’t. Wait until you are emotionally and psychologically steeled against disappointment and self-doubt. Wait until three or four prospective employers tell you you’re not qualified; and banks tell you they’ve never seen a credit score so low; and you see the amount of your first monthly Social Security check. Then have sex for the first time. You’ll be able to put the inevitable disappointment and self-doubt in context. (Note: this life lesson only applies when you’re having sex with someone else.)

You have assets you don’t realize you have. Remember: you are enough. Miriam-Webster defines “underbelly” as “a vulnerable area” and “a corrupt or sordid part.” I’ve come to realize late in life that underbelly has a third definition: it’s an actual location on my body — it’s where I put my belt. Women keep cell phones and cash in their bras. Now I have a place to keep my driver’s license and credit card. I don’t need pants. Some people get upset when I lift my shirt and then my belly to put things in and take things out, but I just remind myself that I am enough.

Plan ahead and anticipate your opponent’s next move. A kid in junior high school semi-regularly took my lunch money. No matter what route I took to school, no matter which hallway I walked, he found me. One morning I ate an extra-huge breakfast. When I got to school, he caught me sneaking in through the side door from the schoolyard and made his usual threat. “Ha!” I said, as I handed over my quarter, “the joke’s on you: I already had lunch,” and walked away with a sneer. He’s probably still in 7th grade.

Thus endeth the lessons. Don’t make me call you to the front of the class.