The invisible woodpecker

We, old people, have become invisible as we head down the final path of existence. Maybe it’s more of the luck of the draw — if you’re lucky enough to be not invisible, then that’s the way it should be, but if you feel the complete opposite, well, that’s not good.

When we are born, everybody is in tune with us. I mean, the nurse holds us upside down and spanks us on our keister, we yell at the top of our little lungs, and we’re off and running…well, the last part may take a year or two.

 Let’s just say we crawl away. Even that’s carrying things a bit too far. Within minutes, we are held in somebody’s arms. Whoever has a hold of us…well, we can rest assured we have their full attention span. Undoubtedly, some may be a little nervous and think we are a piece of glass and will shatter if suddenly dropped.

Sometimes, I wonder if that is what happened to me.

Then we begin to grow, and all eyes are upon us as we jump on our first three-wheeler. Soon, we are given the keys to our first car.

It’s time to get with the program, join the rat race, and see how many years we can float up the river, rolling through our adult years, and into those days when we are productive members of society.

And then one day, someone starts talking about a silver-sneaker program, and it is time for us to retire early. Or we continue the rat race for a few more years until someone mentions cataracts, and we quickly pull out the dictionary to see what that ailment is.

By this time, we are becoming invisible. We may need a ride, for goodness sake. Where are all the people who were spanking us the other day? The other day! Seventy, or eighty, or ninety years ago, for goodness sake. On second thought, those wonderful people who did the spanking are long gone.

I should drop this invisible stuff for a while, but then I glance at my local paper, and I discover there is a rare bird out there that must be invisible. I’ve never seen one. I guess I should start looking. Maybe I should take a break from my laptop and shut down all the words that keep popping out of my head, grab a pair of binoculars, and head for the hills, and look for an ivory-billed woodpecker.

I mean, this little fella is becoming extinct. On the front page of my local paper this morning, under the lead story, "Some fear boosters will hurt vaccination drive," is a two-page story about all the birds and fish that are heading toward extinction.

I finally discovered that the last sighting of the little woodpecker was back in 1944, one year before I was born.

Well, no wonder I haven’t come across this guy.

See, that little old woodpecker isn’t invisible at all.

Maybe I’m not, either.