There are days I wake up and am forced to come face to face with the reality of stability. Some mornings every part of my body and mind seem to be screaming at me that I'm a middle-aged, overweight, gray-haired but balding, father of 5 that spends his free time at church. Just this weekend the coolest thought that crossed my mind was that I could bring my little boy with me to my buddy's house to watch football. Damn it all but I would kill for a taste of 25 again. I long for the days when my best attribute wasn't stability. My 20th high school reunion is coming up; I keep in touch with people from back then and am always amazed that they don't seem to be getting older the way I am. The realization hits me - I'm not aging well. In the back of your mind, you always think you'll be sitting at the table with your wife and snickering because so-and-so looks ten years older than everyone else. Terror sinks in as you realized one morning that it's going to be you. Shit. I have noticed in the past month that I have moles coming up on my arms and legs. They're jagged, lumpy messes of fear and I realize that it's all downhill from here.