Historical humor by Tom Hoerr, May 1981. Comic characterizations and anecdotes are preserved as satire, not factual allegations about identified neighbors.
Growing older has its advantages.
Oh, there are lots of disadvantages all right, but there are some pleasant aspects which must be experienced to be appreciated. Perhaps the biggest benefit to growing older is that you legitimately acquire wisdom that goes with being a tribal elder. Its not that you actually get any smarter or gain any knowledge; rather, there are now more years of foolish mistakes and trial by error to look back on with an omniscient attitude. Unfortunately, there is no doubt that some of the things that I’m doing today are just as dopey as some of the stunts I pulled when I was sixteen (but I’ve gained enough experience so I can do a better job at getting away with the stunts!).
Lowering of expectations is a benefit which comes with growing older.
No longer am I expected to shovel the snow or even cut the grass in hot weather. (My wife would argue that I never did those chores anyway, but this is my article, so she’s out of luck.) I subscribe to the “live and let live” theory of yard maintenance. God put the snow there and if we wait long enough, He’ll take it away. Its the same with grass and leaves; who am I to tamper with nature’s Grand Plan?
Besides, the leaves cover the dirt where the grass didn’t grow.
My self-expectations have really changed on the softball field. I no longer expect to dive and snare line drives, land on my feet and fire to first base in one easy motion. (In all honesty, I never did those things, but I can’t pass up the opportunity to imply that I have just lost the knack.) These days I consider myself lucky if I finish the game unhurt and with no balls having been hit to me.
Growing older has allowed me to accumulate goods.
If you’re a saver, you know what I mean. Sooner or later, everything comes back into style. (Have you seen the bumper sticker, “The HulaHoop is coming!-?) The longer you live, the more options you have available in your closet. It’s just a matter of mixing and matching cartons, shoeboxes, and bags that never quite made it to the Goodwill.
Age also allows one to become an iconoclast. It’s cool to be somewhat eccentric when you’re “older,” whereas conformity was mandated as a youngster.
As a teen-ager I actually spent money to take my car to the car wash! Today I have a more tolerant attitude toward dirt and rust. Neither of us ( the car and I, that is) are going to win any prizes, but we generally get where we’re going. Think of all the money I’m saving on lawnmowers, clothes, and carwashes.
The best part about growing older, though, is seeing my long-time friends turn out to be reasonable human beings. I never had any doubts about me, but I had real misgivings about some of them!
One of my buddies is now a Sports Information Director at a Florida university. That’s especially good when you consider that, as college students, he and I used to cut our morning classes to warm up for our intra-mural lunchtime athletic contests. (We also cut our afternoon classes to debrief after the game.) His mother thought that I was a bad influence on him and my mother thought that he was a bad influence on me.
Another one of my friends is now an assistant principal in a south county school district.
This guy used to drink too much and Lech at all the sweet young things. (He once drank so much that he asked his sister’s Dodge Dart to go steady with him.
We found him in the parking lot at El Monti’s, trying to jam his DuBourg ring on the turn signal.) His mother thought that I was a bad influence on him and my mother thought that he was a bad influence on me. My closet high school and college friend is now into making big bucks.
The best part is that I’m not quite sure how he does it.
Oh, he does a little of this and a lot of that; everything from selling Amway to making radiator covers, but the real origin of his money is unclear to me.
I don’t think he’s running guns, dope, or numbers, but I wouldn’t rule out much else. He’s now living in WesCo ( a suburb in the state of Nirvana), eating pork steaks and driving a Seville.
His past? Somehow he’s changed the least.
He always was a con artist.
His nickname was the Ghost because of his ability to vanish when work was to be done (“Say, where’d he go? I just saw him here and now he’s dissappeared into thin air!”) His mother thought that I was a bad influence on him and my mother thought that he was a bad influence on him.
Anyway, it’s nice to see them being semirespectable citizens. (I say semi because I just talked to the Ghost and he has some watches for sale at a cheap price. Real cheap.) I keep wondering what happened to the good guys, y’know, the ones whose complexions were clear and behavior was exemplary. I suspect (hope?) that they’re still leading very dull, boring, albeit successful, lives. I wish them no harm, but I don’t know if they can appreciate getting older, because I’m not sure they ever appreciated being young.
Oh yes, it’s amazing how mothers can be such good judges of character.
Originally published in The Paper, May 1981.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1981_05.pdf, printed page(s) 12; PDF page(s) 12.
