Living the good life is killing me

Having a good upbringing is, apparently, hazardous to my health. And, to top it off, it does it slowly over time.

I grew up on a farm … plenty of fresh air, plenty of exercise throwing bales, plenty of digging spuds, and plenty of walking to town because the old man thought I should be out throwing bales and wouldn’t let me take the truck.

The picture of health, or so I thought. Little did I know the good life was out to get me.

The first indication was a few years ago during an annual trip to the doctor. He noticed that I have a lot of freckles on my back. A lot. What’s interesting is that they are only on my back.

Chalk it up to hours sitting on the tractor in the blazing summer heat with my shirt off. Who needs a tanning bed? I had a tanning tractor. Plus, back then suntan lotion was something you put on when you went to the beach, not when you went to work.

We farm-boys always had the best tans … from the shirt collar up and shirtsleeves down, but it was a good one. Now I go to a dermatologist every couple of years and get checked out.

Next up came the high blood pressure. Chalk that one up to eating a pound of bacon for breakfast on the farm. Yup, often that was all that was served for breakfast. Forget these fancy bacon creations you see now (chocolate bacon pie and all that). We had it straight up. And it was cut from the slab so the rind was still on. You would chew the bacon down to the rind and then toss the rind to the dog, who would finish it off.

If that wasn’t enough, we would also often chip off a piece of salt from the blocks we put out for the cows and then suck on the salt like it was candy.

“Reduce your sodium intake,” says the doc.

“Where were you when I was mainlining it in my youth,” I ask, somewhat bewildered by where my youth has led me. I thought the misspent part was when I was hanging around the pool hall smoking cigarettes, not when I was out getting fresh air, exercise, and a pound of salt.

Then there was the trip to the optometrist who told me I’m starting to develop cataracts. At least she pacified me with the knowledge that we all develop cataracts at some point in our life and that they likely won’t be a problem until I’m in my 70s. The cause? Heredity and overexposure to sunlight in my youth.

So, thanks mom and dad who both had cataracts in their later years (my mother would sometimes us binoculars to watch TV but I’m thinking it’s an excuse for that 80-inch screen).

Once again, the hours spent on the tractor squinting into the sun didn’t do my eyes any good. Back then, sunglasses were something you wore when you went to the beach or went cruising up and down main street (as long as the old man let me have the truck). Sunglasses weren’t worn when you went to work in the fields.

Who knew?

So, the good life is out to get me. That’s all right. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’ll be back out there this summer, munching on salt-free chips, wearing long-sleeved shirts and welding goggles behind the wheel of the tractor while slathering on that SPF 5000.