• Do you remember cable TV?

  • Whack.
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  • Whack.
    The green tennis ball exploded off my son's racquet and headed towards my left.
    My brain reacted instantly and began issuing commands:
    "Track the ball's trajectory."
    "Move your feet to the left."
    Delay. Delay.
    My feet weren't moving.
    After an eternally long second, they began shuffling but the ball sped by me before I could reach it, clanging against the chain-link fence.
    What was wrong with my brain-foot connection?
    Well, it seems that things have changed.
    It's been a while since I played tennis with my son. He's bigger, stronger and faster than he used to be.
    I, on the other hand am bigger and slower than I used to be.
    I'm no longer the skinny kid whose life revolved around stickball, hoops and the ice cream truck.
    Instead, I've become Mister Softee.
    Things change. Sometimes change is a choice.
    There are plenty of healthy food alternatives, yet I continue to live on pizza and binge on marshmallows.
    I can't fill my gas tank for $17 anymore, but I can buy a more fuel-efficient vehicle. Even though I haven't.
    And then there are those things we cannot change.
    Twenty-five years ago, you'd pass just one traffic light between Bushkill and downtown, and it was a blinking light. Now I can't count how many traffic signals there are.
    A steep, grass-covered hill dotted with evergreens stood guard on the south side of Seven Bridge Road. The hill was leveled, replaced with a Dairy Queen and car wash.
    We romanticize over the past, all those things we lost. Yet who among us would want to live without our cellphones, street corner lattes and Insanity workouts?
    And one day, we'll yearn for the simplicity of 500-channel high definition TV, 24-ounce soft drinks and saturated fat.
    Things change.
    Sometimes for the better and sometimes because progress is no more than evolving economic opportunities sprinkled with self preservation and genetic disposition.
    And so, when we acknowledge the changes beyond our control, we can alter those within our control more easily.
    My son slams another ball at me.
    The process repeats itself. "Move your feet. Wait. OK, go."
    These days I'm asking him for tennis tips while he runs me around the court like a squirrel in traffic.
    I can play more and get faster. Eat better and get smaller.
    Or maybe I'll just go to the Dairy Queen and get my car washed.
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