Less than 20 years ago I began hearing how we were losing more than one thousand World War ll veterans every day and it left a sobering effect on my own thoughts regarding mortality. In the grand scheme of time none of us really have that much of it from beginning to end and when someone we care about dies it is a wake-up call that we probably squandered a lot of it by not spending more time with them when we had the chance. My parents were from that generation and 20 years ago I wasn't giving much thought about them dying anytime soon, but 18 years ago my mother did and a year and a half later my dad followed. When they were both gone it left a void in my own life that will never be filled.
My work as a writer and publisher is packed with reminisces of growing up in an era that had little in common with the one I am currently navigating through and that includes most of the people around me now. Sometimes I wonder if I have lived too long and when I do the idea of rejoining my parents and the countless others I cared about who have passed on isn't that troubling to me. I have a friend who lives in Romeo, Michigan who is in his 90s and I recall when I first met him more than 35 years ago he talked about looking forward to the day he would die, but it wasn't about being fed up with living as much as it was about wanting to experience what he believed would be a better place in the after-life. All of these years later he still feels the same way and the last time we spoke he said he was disappointed that he has lived this long because now that he is as old as he is he feels used up, no longer relevant to anyone and because the aches and pains he feels now are worse than he ever expected them to be.
He was a Hell-raiser when he was a younger man and he misses that Hell. He was a hard drinker and a chain-smoker most of his life when he was able to afford both and when he had the freedom to go out and indulge, and he was a promiscuous man who looked for and usually found opportunities to quench those desires anytime he felt the urge. Having reached an age a long time ago where none of that is possible anymore has left him with a feeling of loneliness that is easy for me to relate to when I think of all things that I can no longer freely do. Age takes away so much more than good health and exciting desires, it can rob us of our self confidence and it becomes more and more difficult to get any of it back when a younger generation looks at us and shows a reaction; it is usually one of disinterest or an expression that they would rather avoid us and just move on to someone, or something else.
When that happens we are left standing in a place that no longer seems familiar, surrounded by people we don't understand and who don't understand us and wondering what we can do to fit in with a world we used to have a bigger stake in.
My old friend boasted that he had slept with more than one thousand women "before his gears ran dry and could no longer be greased"...that is how he speaks and I still get a kick out of hearing him talk that way even if the rest of the world around me might find such utterances offensive. The humor I found then and still find in my friend is that he talks of bad behavior as if it is a good thing while quoting passages from Scripture. Some might think of him as a hypocrite but to me he is no more hypocritical than anyone else I know who criticizes anything I say or do. I don't know any perfect people but I do know many who seem to want others to believe they might be.
We all have our faults, and my friend is right when he says that eventually our greatest fault is becoming old, because the time does come when we are just in someone else's way. Not many people his age or even mine is likely to blurt out..."I remember pussy" when asked what they miss the most about youth, but that is exactly what he said. Then he reminded me that those beautiful and interesting women that we always found desirable got old like us, and like us many of them became just wrinkled faces with bodies that have fallen victim to gravity and poor diets and with skin that enjoyed too much sun over too many summers.
I miss that kind of honesty from men like him; from that era when older guys than me didn't worry as much about what they said because they didn't feel as if they had to; ask a simple question, get a real answer with no polish or fancy frills. That's who those people were and how many from my generation used to be before so many of us felt we needed to change. My friend is part of that generation that is nearly gone now and I am shocked at how many younger people don't even care and how many more who are probably glad that society is turning the pages for what they regard as a better world without them. I suspect that many of them are feeling the same about my generation; that they will be better off without any of us who can remember the middle of the 20th Century as a better time than now. To them I would say be patient, time flies faster than you think and before you know we will all be gone and there won't be any traces of the world that existed before you got here.
Indeed, every time an old historic building is torn down I am as sad as some are glad to see it obliterated and replaced with one more aesthetically pleasing to them; perhaps a new one made of glass and shiny steel instead of bricks and elaborate cornices; one with straighter and smoother lines that catch and reflect sunlight or the rays of strategically placed lighting. The appearance of brick and mortar is probably as drab to them as I am to them.
As I approach my 63rd summer I feel I am nipping at the heals of being over the hill, others would argue that I have already crossed over it; especially those who have taken our places in jobs, and in places like stadiums and in lines at the supermarket. The truth is, my generation is disappearing too; I read or hear of the passing of people my age and younger more and more everyday and each time I wonder how much longer I will be here to share stories, or talk about the changes we have seen and why some of us are really not that impressed with most of them when compared to what we saw and experienced in life.
That time when my parents were still here and when they mattered to a lot of people, and when their parents were still around and still had much to offer. Back when most of my own life still lay ahead and when remnants of the era before mine were still plentiful. Life was simpler and much easier then, so who wouldn't miss that?
When I write it is from personal perspective and experience and I don't expect any of it to be of much interest to anyone who doesn't think a little like I do. But I really don't care because even if only a few actually read it and understand any of it I still feel pretty good about sharing my feelings if only because I still have the desire and the opportunity to.
My old friend in Michigan might just outlive me and I hope he does, but I know he hopes he won't, and that comes from something else he told me more than 20 years ago; "I hope I am not around for very long when the rest of the world gives up on me." He worried that life would suck if the time came when his hands were too shaky to light a smoke or pour his own drink. His words were funnier to me then but his message was sad when I got old enough to understand them. A guy like that isn't for everyone but I still like him and I like what he reminds me of; a place and a time filled with people who only wanted to live out their lives being graciously accepted for who they always were and leaving behind something good for the generations to follow. My grandparents probably died believing that but my friend and I both feel that they might have been the last ones who could.
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