Okay; it’s official. I’m old.

I’ve been throwing out my back for over 30 years. It’s normally caused by some strenuous and repeated movement that days later makes the muscles pull on the spine. Recently, Susan and I have been laying pavers, building a large patio at our new house. Thousands of these concrete blocks are lifted and shoved into place, picked up again and relaid, and this, after shoveling a large mound (2 feet deep and 12 feet by 30 feet) of dirt and pouring out and leveling 105 bags of paver sand. Needless to say, my back has been hurting but the day before yesterday it went SPROING right below the shoulder blades where the spine rounds as you bend.

Today, I went to the drug store to get a heat patch. This, by the way, is where the proof of my age shows. I purchased two boxes of BenGay pain relieving patches. These things are about 3″ x 5″ and I’m at home by myself, trying to put this little sucker in the middle of my back. Here’s the way that went:

I laid a towel down on the bed so I wouldn’t get the menthol on the bedspread, sat on the edge of the bed and laid back, trying to note exactly where I would need to place the patch to end up with it stuck in the correct location on my spine. Next, I peeled off the plastic sheet from the adhesive backing on the patch. Well, I didn’t do this right away because the manufacturer does not have an easy-lift tab to grab hold of and so, I could not easily get hold of the edge of the thin, plastic sheet. Eventually, I did nab it and carefully pulled the plastic sheet from the patch, unable however to keep the blamed thing from curling up and sticking to itself.

Next I pulled away the patch from the multiple locations it had stuck to itself. In the process, I rubbed my eye, getting just enough menthol on the edge of my eye to create the icy-hot effect I’d really hoped would be applied to my spine by now.

After I got the patch somewhat flattened out, I laid it on the towel on the bed and sat down, remembering just where my tailbone had to hit the edge of the bed so I when I laid back I would get the patch to stick to the correct location on my back. Right? No. It stuck to my right shoulder blade. So I had to reach around and try to pull this sucker from my back which caused my spine even more pain. And made the patch curl up and stick to itself again.

I tried this a few more times with roughly the same results. The last time I tried, I discovered something interesting about human anatomy when a 3 x 5 adhesive patch is applied to it. There is a spot on one’s back that is impossible to reach. Guess what! I managed to get the patch stuck there. Try as I might, I could not then get hold of a corner and pull it free. But I’m both persistent and clever (and stupid).

I proceeded to the kitchen and got the meat tongs I use when grilling. Next I walked to the bathroom where I could see part of my back in the mirror and reached over my shoulder with the tongs and pushed (re: raked) the edge of those metal fingers between the icy-hot gluey patch and my skin until I got it separated, squeezed the tongs, pulled outward from my back as best I was able…and lost hold of the patch. It was still stuck. In the wrong place.

After several attempts I got the thing off. That’s right, it was curled up, stuck to itself again.

That was two hours ago. I still don’t have the patch on my back. But they were on sale—half off. And the house at least smells like some old guy in pain lives there. So I’m on the right track. In fact, I’ve got nine more patches I could try to get on my spine except for the fact that my back is now more out of whack than it was before. I don’t think I can take another attempt.

So last night in his prayers, the youngest lad prayed for his own grandmother who is going to UNC hospital today for some treatment or test. He added after the “amen”… “Oh yeah, God, and don’t let the doctors cut off grandma’s legs.”

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6 year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Tylenol, sun lotion, or a band-aid to a student, but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents: Truth and Trust, his wife, Discretion, his daughter, Responsibility, and his son, Reason.

He is survived by his 3 step-brothers: I Know My Rights, Someone Else Is To Blame, and I’m A Victim.

Not many attended his funeral because only a few realized he was gone.

(Author unknown)

The Downtown Barber Shop has been there on the corner across from Zach’s Hotdogs for 100 years. May it will last another century.