I have speculated to myself that there are a minimum of three men I want to be proud of me when the time of my funeral arrives. Two of them will be pallbearers and one will not. Those three men would be my dad and my sons, Derek and Christopher. I am not purposefully excluding the female members of my inner circle but am just focusing on testosterone for this column.

When I was 8 years old, I wanted to be a professional athlete. Baseball, football or basketball, it didn’t matter. Heck, why couldn’t I be all three? I seldom read a book, fiction or non-fiction, that was not about sports. I was addicted to throwing, catching or kicking a ball. If I couldn’t find a ball, I would throw rocks. Cats prowling the barnyard or the cows out in the pasture were frequent targets. The metal roof of the barn made a really cool sound when my missile hit its mark. I may or may not have broken the window on the back porch door with a rock thrown from out by the shed. I did not quite make the distance from there to clear the house. Since I was throwing from west to east, I will blame that on the morning sun glaring in my eyes. I remember Mom telling me that I must have “thrown every rock on this place from one end to the other.”

It’s obvious I did not become a professional athlete. I played in lots of games and on lots of teams over the years. Getting into tussles and fights of frustration at the high school reunion tournament in my early 40s proved to me that it was time for retirement. I am guessing that the 8-year-old Todd is most likely a little disappointed.

However, I do have some consolation in that a couple other 8-year-olds have been proud of me. I am referring to my two oldest grandsons, Braxon and Peanut. When Braxon was 8, he loved my cooking very much. He is famous for loudly stating to the family during dinner that “Grandpa should open a restaurant.”

His favorite dish was my version of orange chicken with quinoa. Peanut has told me that I am the fun, silly grandpa and loves pulling pranks with me. He is my sour cream and onion potato chip buddy but has grown too big to sit on my lap. They are both now older than 8, and I am not sure what my “soon-to-be missionary” and his bike-racing, high schooler younger brother think of their crazy aging Grandpa Todd.

I now have three more grandsons and one granddaughter of less than 8. That gives me some time to make great impressions and receive their idolization. Is there room on the pedestal for these six grandchildren of mine to place their grandpa? I sure hope so.

Let’s discuss the 80-year-old Todd. That milestone is still 15 years and two months away. Thanks to more than one cardiologist, I may very well see 80 candles on that birthday cake. (If I can be so bold, I would like to request it be cherry chip flavored with really thick frosting.)

I will surely be retired by the age of 80. My goals include having enough health and memory to remember those grandchildren’s names, my own name and walk around without falling. I hope to have the cognitive skills to look back on my life, my career, my family, and my friends and feel a sense of pride and accomplishment. I will make a self-evaluation on criteria I have thought about, but will keep private for now. I wonder whether what is important to me now will still be paramount. I wonder if the things that used to be important to me will make a resurgence. The criteria I speak of are dynamic and flexible, but I can promise you it will be of a high standard.

Many things change between 8 and 80. Some are unanticipated and unwanted, and others are welcomed. I think it is only natural that 8-year-old Todd could not have imagined what grown-up Todd might eventually do for a living. Nor could he have imagined what grown-up Todd’s children might be like. He most likely never thought about where the future Todd would live throughout his adult life. I would love to sit down and have a conversation with 8-year-old Todd and explain my decisions, my choices, my successes and my failures. My purpose would be to chase away any of his disappointment in me. Maybe I can teach him that everything that irritates us about others can lead us to a better understanding of ourselves? I would do my best to convey to him each and every adult lesson I have learned since I was his age. How thrilled I would be to be his best friend as we toss the ball back and forth in the backyard.

If I pass his evaluation with high marks, then maybe I won’t be the only one proud of me. The list will include my mom, my spouse, my children, my grandchildren and many others. I hope they can all say to me, “Hey Todd, hey Dad, hey Grandpa, job well done.”