It is very interesting that I begin this column again exactly one year, to the day, when I first began to write on it. I'm not sure why I stopped working on it at the time, and it could be any number of reasons, but I do recall that it was exactly one year. You see, my oldest son is a year closer to becoming a man, and it was on his birthday last year that this idea popped into my head. Interestingly, a wench posted to a public forum on this very subject, which will further reinforce the rumors that I get all my material from one or another of those public boards. I considered beating her, but instead made her promise to quit writing about things that I am going to write about soon. Can kajira read the minds of men? For her sake, I hope so.

I suppose that when I look at my sons growing, my own mortality is magnified somewhat. And the fact that I threw out my back with attempting an unusual position from the Kama Sutra, tells me that I’m just not able to do everything I could as a younger man. When I laced up my skates a year ago for the first time in years, I noticed several changes since my junior hockey days many moons ago. First, none of my old equipment, with the exception of my cup, fit my body any longer. Second, I couldn’t skate, stickhandle, shoot, or check with even a modicum of the skill I had once possessed. At first I thought it was rust from not playing in many years.... It wasn’t. Lastly, I noticed that my mind still thought it could make my body pull off some moves and techniques which I learned as a pee-wee. This, of course, led to a great deal of pain and embarrassment.... I’m just thankful that there were no announcers. Instead of, "He shoots! He scores!", it would be, "He shoo... Well, no, he tried to shoot and fell flat on his face!" So, you might ask, why would a fellow in his mid-30’s, somewhat overweight, and not exactly in ice-hockey shape, decide to play a sport that is so physically demanding? Let me tell you… I asked myself the same question every time on of my various body parts reminded me of the hardness of frozen water and vulcanized rubber, and the pain associated with sticks made of sharpened ash. In retrospect, I believe it was to again capture a part of my life that I thought I had lost. To me, there is something magical about distending the netting behind a goalie or making a perfect pass to set up a score... In one game, against the best team in the league, I set up the winning goal, in overtime, on a nifty little cross-ice pass... and it was like being a kid again. I jumped in the air, then I fell down, then I danced in a very silly fashion to the locker room, and then I went with the team for drinks. Did I recapture my youth? No... I just managed to get a few bruises and a hangover. But that night, I had more zest than the washroom at the anal retentive convention after the mud wrestling event. I hope to someday develop the same feelings when I sink a 40-foot putt, because golf, after all, is about the only sport you can play until you die.

It is much too easy to come home at night to sit my rotund behind on a soft couch and simply be entertained by a humming and glowing electronic box. There are other activities, however, which can be much more fulfilling, provided the motivation is there. You have to wonder how men, during the exceptional life spans of those on the planet Gor, would keep the same zeal for life. The books are quite clear that the average Gorean has a greater understanding and appreciation for life than a typical man from an earth society, but it seem like the person with the shorter life would try and fill it more completely… I think we can all agree that this is simply not the case.

There are a few of us on this planet, however, that won’t be calling Dr. Kavorkian, or wrapping themselves in purple sheets for the arrival of a comet, or sipping on purple Kool-Aide. These folks are the ones who live by Gorean philosophy. Perhaps this is why there is no Purple Caste, eh? I simply cannot see the people who are sincerely of our community participating in these oddities. The Cult of Gor? Puhleeeze… Anyone who knows anything about us would realize that we are far from being a group of followers. If you delve into Norman’s work, and look closely at his treatment of the Caste of Initiates, you’ll see what I mean. What the author proposes in his works, to me, is not only a long life, but one filled with the trials of the natural order combined with the lack of certain technologies. In this regard, the aging process is secondary in the "softening" process here on earth. The real culprit is the advent of so many inventions that make life much too easy. If you think of some recent groups which were not so… "fortunate", you can see the point. You didn’t find many pioneers that were out of shape, the Mongol raiders weren’t concerned about cholesterol, and few American Indians used a Stairmaster. It seems their lives kept them sharp as a free woman’s tongue when no men are present. So what is our problem? Well, with all the new innovations and creations to make life "easier", it has tended to make many of us more sedentary. Even some of the more demanding physical jobs now require at least a portion of time spent in front of a computer screen. So what are we to do about our problem? Become more Gorean, of course. But that is much more easy to say than to do. Trust me, I know.

One day, to use a visual from a good friend, I hope to spend my last days watching the world go by from my front porch, only releasing my slightly wrinkled slave from the ring attached to my rocker to fetch prune juice. But… Those days are not these days, and for the next to last day of the 1900’s, it is beautiful outside. The temperature is in the 70’s, the sun is shining, and that… is quite uncharacteristic for the mid-west. So instead of spending the last couple hours in my office, I think I’ll head out to get my kids, and play a little ball in the park.