I have always said that there are only three men I want to be proud of me when I die: my Dad and my two older scrutinizing brothers. But I suggest there are only two people whom you need to be proud of you. Not your mom, not your dad, not your spouse or siblings. It should be your 8-year-old self and your 80-year-old self.

When I was 8, I wanted to be a professional athlete. Baseball, football, basketball, it didn't matter which. Heck, why not be all three? I seldom read a book that was not about sports. I was always throwing a ball, catching a ball or kicking a ball. If I couldn't find a ball, I would throw rocks at the cats prowling around the granaries, cows in the pasture or the metal roof of the farm shed. (It made such a cool sound when I hit it.) I may or may not have broken the window on the back porch door in a failed attempt to eclipse the distance from the shed out back, over the entire house. Since I was throwing from west to east, I’ll blame that on the morning sun being in my eyes! I remember Mom telling me that I must have “thrown every rock on the place from one end to the other.” Well, it's obvious I didn't become a professional athlete. Played lots of ball games, on lots of teams through my college years, but that is where it ended. Getting into tussles and fights at the annual high school alumni basketball tournaments in my early 40s taught me it was time for retirement. So I am guessing 8-year-old Todd is most likely a little disappointed.

However, I have some consolation in that a couple other 8-year-olds have been proud of me: my two grandsons, Braxon and Peanut. When Brax was 8, he loved my cooking so much, especially the orange chicken with quinoa, that he stated, “Grandpa should open a restaurant!” Peanut will tell me that I am the fun, silly grandpa and he loves pulling pranks with me. He is my sour cream and onion potato chip eating lap buddy. They are both older than 8 now, so I am not sure what two budding teenagers think of their grandpa and his antics. But I feel confident that at age 8, they were proud of me. My newest grandson Tater-bug, is only 2. That gives me six good years to impress him with my buffoonery and cooking.

Now let's talk about my 80-year-old self. That is a little under 20 years away. If I do better with my cardiologist-recommended diet and exercise I may see 80. I came close to not seeing 60 but miracles do happen at the hands of heart surgeons. I will surely be retired by the age of 80. The goal is to still have enough health and memory to remember those grandsons’ 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, my friends, etc., and feel pride. I will then make a self evaluation on criteria I have thought about, but won’t reveal at this time. I wonder whether what is important to me now will be then. The criteria is dynamic and flexible but it will be of a high standard I promise you that much.

So much changes between 8 and 80. Unanticipated, unexpected and unpredicted. I guess it's only natural that 8-year-old Todd could not have imagined what grown up Todd might eventually do for a living or what grown up Todd’s children might be like. He most likely never thought about where grown up Todd may live throughout his adult life. I would love to have a conversation with 8-year-old Todd and explain my decisions, my choices and hopefully chase away some of his disappointment in me. I hope we would be friends.

I am hoping that if I pass these self evaluations with high marks, then I won't be the only one proud of me. The list will include my mom, my dad, my brothers, my spouse, my children, my grandchildren, my friends and my Heavenly Father. I hope they all can say to me, “Hey, Todd! Job well done!”

Todd Thomas was born and raised in Preston. He’s currently serving his fourth term on the Preston City Council and works full time as a physical therapist. He can be reached at toddt@prestonid.us.