Cheap! Or Best Offer

My 2005 Ford 150 had a small dent on the passenger-side door and a cigarette burn in the passenger seat when I bought it earlier this year. I'm sure, when I eventually sell it or trade it in, it'll have more scratches, dents, tears and tarnishes from -- to take liberties with Asleep at the Wheel -- 'miles and miles of Texas.' First evidence: scratch across back bumper from daughter #1's borrowing it during Thanksgiving visit.

High-mileage, early-model truck. Perfect work car or for new drivers. Some scratches and dings, no serious damage. Cranky starts, needs lots of TLC, but reliable. AM/FM radio with after-factory 8-track player. Still works!

That's the ad my wife would run when it came time to trade me in for a sportier SUV that cooks, cleans and does house repairs. A hybrid of sorts.

I've thought about this for awhile. I've been blessed with a healthy life, as have my wife and children (thank you, thank you, thank you!!!), and I've live a pretty healthy (and usually dull) life. I'm happy and smile a lot, have friends and a supportive family, not too overweight, and have always enjoyed my jobs; so I'm well ahead of the curve for longevity.

But just like trading in a car and having all the dings, scratches, tears and tarnishes pointed out (52 years of dings, scratches, etc), I'm shocked at how my trade-in value is dropping (but my antique value is rising). Here's a lot of what I can see so far (in no particular order):

- Scars next to left eye and above left lip in the same arc as part of the circumference of a 1966 Valiant steering wheel, from a car wreck as a college freshman (and later-learned-about associated scarring on my frontal lobe)

- Missing testical as a result of cancer a few years ago (went to bed, scratched and found a pecan-sized surprise; woke up wife, grabbed her hand and said 'feel this;' she said 'No, I'm already asleep)

- I think it's still there, although the testicle's not, but a scar from the attempted vasectomy in the late '90s that resulted in an on-the-table seizure (apparently scarring on frontal lobe can do that), which scared the poo out of my doctor . . . learned that he takes medication for epileptic seizures . . . and he had a knife?

- Lost count of the number of scars from basil cell skin cancers and pre-cancerous moles removed via minor surgeries and 'freezing,' probably mostly a result of shirtless summers and whatever was in Port Arthur's refinery air; daughter #1 pays to tan (grrr!), #2 oozes suncreen

- Plantar fasciitis on in my left foot, prompted by playing barefoot (stupid, stupid, stupid) in a touch football game with high school freshmen a couple of Labor Days ago (but it was a great example of age and cunning -- and cheating -- overcoming youth and skill every time)

- A scar on the back of my left upper leg from the kick of that STUPID horse: I hated him, he hated me, big horse wins every time; lost him (darn!) in the divorce

- Astigmatism in my right eye, probably a result of getting hit in that eye as a seventh-grader; at 210 pounds and having the confidence of a couple of marathons and a couple of century bicycle rides, I could kick that 13-year-old's butt now

Fortunately, none of the above (or another post of minor dings) has had any long-term physical affects. So I value the scars and the scratches and can still laugh about how I got them (and hopefully learned from them).

And I thank God that I can.