Aging is humbling. Driving back to work after my audiology appointment, I could still hear (forgive the pun) the audiologist’s unsympathetic voice in my mind: “Your hearing has gotten worse.” She had uttered it with about as much concern as a government minion when he tells you that you owe still more taxes.

The audiologist ordered new hearing aids for me. Again, she was so friendly. She reminded me of Laurence Olivier’s character of Szell, the Nazi dentist, in the 1971 film Marathon Man. She had similar bedside manners–about as friendly as ice with frost on top–just for grins and giggles.

I read the novel Marathon Man for the first time in my 10th-grade A.P. English class, and neither that reading nor the terrifying film left me. I can still hear (irresistible hearing pun again) the slapping-upon-pavement sounds of Dustin Hoffman’s tennis shoes as he ran the streets of New York, and later arranged for his ‘neighbors’ to rob him. (It’s a wonderful story and film, in my view.)

But back to the point. My hearing had worsened. It is embarrassing. I should probably rue my many days of blasting shooting cans at the end of the dirt road by my great grandparents’ farm in south GA, and shooting quail and doves as a boy (again with no hearing protection), and years of serving in infantry, cavalry, and artillery units . . . well, the eardrums can take a beating.

Some of my buddies joked about me today as I returned. I took it all, as was fitting. I love these guys–so young, so vibrant, so Icarus-like. The sun’s no threat, they exude. You can’t listen to “I Am the Walrus” on low, they imply. Right. Tell me that when you get hearing aids.

But as I walked out late this evening, a buddy of mine asked me to come shoot over the next few weeks at our various ranges. I get to not be a chaplain for a few minutes, and get some more trigger time with the guys after hours. That’s it, folks; that’s the beauty. It involves guys who love to shoot, and to shoot well, and get more trigger time. I can’t wait; I’m already practicing my breathing and trigger squeeze. (I’ll even wear ear protection, though it’s many years too late now.) Lock and load. How can one not love that phrase?