Some of you lucky elders out there may have been part of the famed Mickey Mouse Club. We won’t mention how long ago that actually was. But I will say Annette Funicello was probably one reason a few males signed up.

I am here to report that I’ve been club less for quite a long time. It’s not that nobody will “take me in and take me on,” but as I age (ripen) I have less time to be a part of one. It’s really supposed to work the other way around; I should have more time to be around others with similar interests!

Early on, things got off to a good start. I was part of a book/reading club in grade school where each of us would devour a book and then discuss it with the rest of the group. We compared thoughts on whether the book was good or bad and what it was trying to say to us.

In seventh grade, I joined a bowling club that met after school at Faxon Lanes. It was fun for a while, but bowling wasn’t for me. Not enough physical exertion to break a sweat and beg for Gatorade. Plus, I never learned to score properly.

Boy Scouts was a club of sorts, and I enjoyed the activities that went with it. My nephew followed in my footsteps, and he likes the camping trips the best.

By high school, teachers and advisors tried to get me to join the French club, the ski club, and even the drama club. Why didn’t I bother with any of those?

Let’s see. I disliked the French language and couldn’t grasp it or their culture. Ski club? I never learned to tackle the slopes or even try cross-country skiing. And a drama club? Dear God, the “drama” began at the first bell and lasted till the last class!

How about joining the debate team? Unless I wanted to pursue a career in being a prosecuting attorney, this was also a lost cause for me.

By college, there were enough clubs to join to last a lifetime. And I didn’t join any of them. Was I “missing in action” on campus? No, just slowly morphing into a “club of one.”

There was some redemption. My passion for automobiles HAD to spill over into some clubs. By age eight, I sent a mailer and a check to the Hot Wheels junior nationwide club. Membership included a boxed club kit that arrived in the mail. In it, you’d find a silver plated car (mine was a Chevy Camaro), a booklet of all their cars and tracks, a certificate, and a few decals and/or iron ons.

I never actually met any of the other members, but I felt a part of something big because I was small.

By my mid-20s, I joined the national Shelby Dodge club. Actually, I received a free membership because I contributed freelance stories for their monthly newsletter. Problem was, their national conventions were too far away for me to attend and meet everyone. Chicago, Miami, Sacramento, you get the picture.

Drive my car there? Sounds more like airfare required. So I never went, I just wrote.

The local Ford Mustang club welcomed me with open arms. It’s still active in our area, but I joined when Tom Schreiner was at the helm. It was a great bunch of guys and gals who truly loved their cars. We went on many trips and picnics and gatherings and cruises. I had fun with them and miss it, but other things in life started to beckon.

Recently, I was asked to join a cancer survivor club put on by the local YMCA. I wanted to join but their meeting times don’t jive with my schedule. Many of their members are older and retired or have flexible time. At Tuesday at noon, I am at work. Sure, I’d love to be swimming or lifting weights and then discuss our trials and tribulations, but I just can’t get there.

The stroke survivor club at Susquehanna Health also contacted me to join them for sessions. Same story. Cannot meet at their specified times. Bills to pay, you know.

I know what you’re thinking. What’s next with all the bad luck of late. Perhaps a meteor will crash into my yard while mowing the lawn. I live. “Mr. Ayers, you are a meteor survivor. Will you join our club? Our dues are cheap, and we meet only twice per year.”

My mother cherished being involved in the local garden clubs, such as Loyalsock and Duboistown. She often talked about the great people she met and the super functions they had. They tell me she is missed.

I should have joined a biking club or a running club. Or a club that met only to vent because they didn’t like joining a club in the first place.

There are pottery clubs and theatre clubs and movie clubs and even (bring the goggles and flippers) scuba clubs. I can even enroll in a club online. There is still a lonely-hearts club in existence.

I shall pass on all of them. But don’t feel sorry for me because I am a club of one instead of a “jack of all clubs.” Perhaps one day I will have the gumption to actually start a club of my very own.
Just don’t hold your breath waiting for the announcement.