"Please pass the torch without a fight or burning yourself."

You know what happens at midlife? You find yourself making one last attempt at dragging the overstuffed Army surplus dufflebag of your youth up the stairs, and then you think, Jesus, how much longer do I need to haul this stuff around? And then the satisfying thump! thump! thump! and a burst of Madness t-shirts washed to paper-thinness flapping over the banister. No one cares about Shane's teeth anymore. It's okay.

Let's concentrate on what's in front of us. This child, for instance. This face, still hooked to my head.

Not back, not forward. Let's stay right here and see what happens.