Trending
The more the years pass, the more I understand old people.
I used to be mystified over the weird ways of the gray and grizzled. "I will never (fill in the blank) when I get to be that old," I vowed time and again.
Now I am. And I do.
Way back in 1978, I watched the Grammy Awards with my dad, who kept grousing things like, "You call this junk music?" and "Who in the tarnation is that?"
It was the year that Billy Joel loved us just the way we were, Anne Murray knew we needed her, Chuck Mangione felt so good and the Bee Gees stayed alive.
"I will NEVER be that out of touch with music," I declared.
Now I carry on my father's legacy with gusto: "Sounds like someone torturing a sick hyena" and "What kind of name is that?"
If it weren't for so-called oldies stations, I'd never turn on the radio at all.
As a kid, I hated being forced to take naps. Now I not only chafe because my boss won't allow me to take an afternoon nap, but I'm lobbying for a mid-morning one as well.
I used to wonder why my folks were such party-poopers who insisted on being in bed by 10 p.m. Now I wonder where they found the stamina to stay up that late.
When my mom went shopping, Dad sat in the car, even if all of us kids went with Mom. Dad didn't shop -- unless it was a farm auction or a hardware store.
"I will never abandon my wife like that," I promised. Which is how I've ended up dragging my feet through enough thrift stores to last three lifetimes -- or 27 lifetimes at thrift store prices.
Dad was right.
When I was young, energetic and fearless, crowds didn't bother me. Put me in the middle of a pack and I'd square my broad shoulders, puff up my solid frame and trade jostle for joggle, grinning like a madman. It was fun.
Not anymore. The other day, I trailed my wife through a teeny, tiny thrift store. Claustrophobia closed in as little old ladies bumped and bothered me. I towered over every one of them. I could have elbowed all the blue hair aside. Instead, I shrank and shuddered. Fossils like me know better than to stand between golden girls and thrift store bargains.
I squeezed through the aisles and collapsed into a chair in the hallway. I closed my eyes and calmed myself with breathing exercises. When did deep breaths become so difficult?
A bellow shattered the oncoming serenity: "There he is, hiding in the hall!"
"Thank you," my wife told the tattle-tale as she collected me.
"They scare me," I whined from under the chair.
"Your white beard is sexy," my sweetie cooed. "They can't help but want to touch you."
"The one with the toucan earrings tried to bite my hand when I backed too close to a macrame monkey. She thought I wanted to steal her treasure."
"Well, it is half-price day. You're cute but you're no half-price macrame monkey."
I thought I would never when I got that old. Now I am that age, nearly as sexy as a macrame monkey and smart enough to know that I will never -- not stay in the car on shopping trips!
Don't laugh, youngster. Someday, you too will finally understand the wisdom of the gray and grizzled.
-- Seek knowledge from Cole at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com, the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook or www.burtonwcole.com.