Mom has always had bad knees. I am sure that I inherited my crummy, old knees from my Mom.

When I was a youngster, Mom and I used to tease and trick each other a lot. One morning, she asked me to empty a mousetrap and, of course, the temptation was too great. I took the mouse by the tail and waved it at her.

I got the scream I wanted, but Mom took it to the next step by quickly locking the back door of the house. My instinct was to run to the front door with the little mouse carcass in hand to get another scream from her.

As I ran around the end of the house, I heard a loud crash and a different kind of scream from Mom. I dropped the little dead rodent and ran in to see what was wrong. Mom was lying on the floor holding her knee laughing and crying at the same time. That started Mom’s history of knee injury and pain.

My first knee injury was just as dumb, only I did it to myself.

We were on our honeymoon in the Bahamas. One evening, the inn hosted a rum punch party. As the Rake-N-Scrap band played, they served the best conch fritters in the world and lots of rum punch. This was followed by a wonderful steak dinner, more music, more run punch and more dancing.

I’m going to blame the rum punch for the next few bad decisions I made, starting with entering a limbo contest. I was pushing the limits of my limbo-dancing ability, but I made it to the finals. It was down to me and a very limber 12-year-old girl. Her parents were cheering her on as she set the new standard and our host lowered the limbo pole. The challenge was on.

The rum punch was cheering me on as I lowered myself into the classic limbo position. I leaned back, kept my knees close together, spread my feet out and tried to push myself forward by wiggling my feet back and forth.

I was getting close to clearing the pole when my right knee suddenly collapsed. As my knee crumbled beneath me, I could feel the ripping and tearing of tendons and cartilage.

As I staggered back to our table, Debbie asked me, “Was that your knee?”

“Yep,” I said, “And, it’s starting to hurt like sin.”

There were no clinics anywhere on the remote island. I finished the vacation with a large pressure bandage wrapped around my knee. It continued to hurt all week. The rum punch became my friend again.

As soon as we got home, I had arthroscopic surgery and was severely chastised by the surgeon for not coming home sooner. The doctor told me that my knees looked like they were about 20 years older than the rest of me.

That was nearly 30 years ago. I put off any other surgical intervention until about two weeks ago. As my right knee became more painful and much weaker, I opted for total knee replacement surgery. Ouch.

Now, I’m really starting to appreciate the saying, “Growing old isn’t for sissies.” Since hitting my mid-sixties, the aches and pains, high blood sugar, high cholesterol and other ailments are now requiring more and more attention.

This isn’t fun. I’m glad I did something about the knee, but doggone, it hurts.

I think it’s official now … I have gotten old.

It used to amuse me when my friends or my family would get together and compare health problems. Now, I’m joining in as they complain about hip replacements, knee replacements, stents, bypasses and a myriad of other physical ailments of old age.

Now, I can join right in with my friends.

I find myself splitting my time between bragging about grandchildren and talking about the good old days. Next year my high school graduating class will be celebrating our 50-year reunion.

That didn’t bother me too much until it dawned on me that the year we graduated, the class of 1918 was celebrating their 50-year reunion.

That made me feel ancient.

I’m now using one of those snazzy day-of-the-week medication caddies to keep all of my pills organized. Having appointments with physicians and therapy has become routine.

It dawned on me a few years ago that I couldn’t do the things I used to do. The last time I walked on the roof to clean out the gutters, I realized I had no business being up there.

Unlike my active, playing, somersaulting grandchildren, I cannot imagine any earthly reason why my butt should ever again be higher than my head.

Having the knee replacement isn’t going to free me to hang upside-down from a limb or enter a cut-throat limbo contest, but I sure am looking forward to riding my bike on the city trails, walking, dancing with Debbie and enjoying some golf. It will even make it easier to bounce a grandbaby on my knee.

Some of these symptoms of aging aren’t very pleasant. But, then again, growing old isn’t for sissies.

Randy Riley is President of Council of Wilmington.