... Because I see how old my parents are now.

My dad blew out both of his arms from doing overly heavy lifting of equipment at his company a few months ago, so he's had these orthopedic things strapped to his forearms half of his waking hours ever since.

Supposedly, he's going to recover, but in the meantime, he can't lift anything heavier than a jug of milk, or do any work with his wrists more demanding than typing at his keyboard.

So, during my recent visit to their home (I'm actually leaving for my own home today), I helped my parents put up the Christmas tree and decorations earlier than they've ever been up before.

Fortunately, the tree is artificial, but at 12 feet tall, assembling it was a chore in itself, never mind hauling out all the ornaments and decorations, and putting all of those up.

Before dinner that night, my dad took a little longer in the bathroom than usual, and my first thought was to wonder if he was having a heart attack.

Of course, he wasn't, but the fact that this is no longer outside the realm of likelihood for me is a bit jarring.

During my week with my parents, I also went to visit my mom's school, for the first time since I was in the Navy.

It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, so it was a half-day and her classes were reading aloud from random writing exercises, many of which were deliberately in-jokey or nonsensical.

My mom asked me to bring a sample of my own writing to read aloud.

I brought three possible choices - one of which was the newspaper article I wrote on attending Revenge of the Sith on opening night, another of which was the last e-mail I sent to my family, when my ship was pulling into port after Operation Iraqi Freedom - but after hearing the students' stories, I decided to read my own story of how, when we were young, I was Doctor Who.

I actually received applause from the students when I finished reading my story, which made me the only one.

I'll be going to bed soon, and when I wake up, I'll be driving back to my place.

It's been good to have a week to decompress.

I'll see you all on the flip side.

It's going to be an ... interesting ... Christmas. My father's death has hit my mother pretty hard, so My sister has made a determined effort to make sure she is not in the parental home on Christmas.


There is a distinct morbid streak in my writing at the moment...

Still, the kids' reaction to your piece gives me some hope for the next generation, provided the schools don't do too much to screw them up.

but Congrats on the ovation for your "Who" essay, especially from such a tough crowd.

I mean, how many 12 year olds make that complaint?

Still, I know what you mean. The wrinkles and receding hairline don't help me much either. Sorry to hear about your father... Here's hoping he does fully recover.

True. But they're REALLY young. I'm 25 now and most people would consider me as "young", but I feel old sometimes too. So you can feel older than you are, depending on your mood and life-outlook. Then there's rich, eccentric sixty year olds like the Richard Branson and (the now late) Steve Fosset who go adventuring around the world and probably don't feel a day over... well... 25.