Michael Hawkins
MY GEEZER RANT
Okay . . . some of you jamokes have been havin' a little fun beating up on us poor "older" classmates . . . that's right . . . I officially graduated today . . . into the geezer generation. As FDR once said (a mere 10 yrs before we wuz born, folks), "A day which will live in infamy." Remember when we couldn't wait to become Seniors? Well, we have arrived (or soon to), and believe me, it gives new meaning to the word. Who'da ever thunk it?
For a tiny bit of perspective, (which I'm sure most of you don't need), just consider for a moment our world:
draft cards; civil rights; race riots; assassinations; space races; cold wars; rotary phones; party lines (now known as "conference" calls); (snail) mail (hell, there was even a hobby called stamp collecting); mini-skirts (should be revived); socks and shirts to match; bufontes; girdles; leisure suits; petal pushers; monograms; muscle cars; drive-ins; balanced budgets; civility; morality; manners; courtesy; empathy; generosity; slide rules; disco; coal furnaces; pot; paddling; generation gap; Heckle and Jeckle, Rocky and Bullwinkle, and a host of other real cartoons; Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Green Jeans; Ding Dong School; fresca; duck and cover; etc; . . . ad infinitum.
Remember those simpler times, in a world without:
computers, calculators, printers, scanners, cell phones, smart phones, video games, color TV, email and a host of other electronic gadgetry; terrorism (was somewhere else); STD's (need I elaborate?); birth control (for most ); battery operated anything except toys; Toyota, Nissan, Kia, Subaru, etc, etc, etc; bottled water; microwaves; instant anything (well, there was coffee, which, of course, no one drinks anymore); soccer; gangsta rap; . . . ad nauseum.
Remember when:
only your grandpa had a tatoo (that he got in the navy during the war); made in Japan meant piece of junk; foreign cars were made in foreign countries, and the Big Four were American; gay was straight; methedrine was made by pharmaceutical firms, not your next door neighbor; you traded knives with your friends at school; school dances were (semi)formal; your class ring (real gold) cost less than the price of a meal at Outback; unwed mothers moved away to live at a "home"; it took 30 years for your parents to pay off a $13,000 home mortgage; kids 18-20 were dying as soldiers but couldn't vote; parking led to . . . hickies; you could by a couple of gallons of gas and a pack of Marlboros for less than a buck (the Lion station on Donelson Pike had it for $0.19 a gallon once); TV had 3 channels (then we got public tv!); 'pong' was all the rage; texts were assigned for homework? . . . well, you get the picture.
Yes, I may be old, but I'm still younger than Tim and Judy and a very few of you other mugs (you can whip me if you can catch me). But folks, it ain't near as bad as the only alternative. Whatever our station at this point in our lives, let's just give a little thanks that we have arrived at all. The gift of life is something that we can really begin to appreciate at this point; let's remember those of our class who have gone on before us, and do what we can in the (little?) time we have left to make our world the place we once dreamed it could be. Remember those days, when we thought we would change the world? I mean, we were the biggest, baddest, mostest generation that ever was! Wasn't nothin' gonna stop us . . . we'd solve every problem known to man . . . free love . . free medical . . . free energy . . . free choice . . . free lunch . . . free . . . DOM! Well, we better get our asses in gear, ya'll, 'cause we're running out of all of the above. Okay, okay, enough already with the pontificating. So what if the more things change, the more they stay the same. LIFE is GOOD!
Best wishes to all my fellow ancients. We have reached that place which we thought back then would be a place worse than death . . . but we have discovered otherwise.
Man, am I looking forward to seeing who (and what!) is left of that unstoppable, unbelievable, unfathomable, never-grow-old, never-gonna-be-my parents (much less grandparents), forever young, bunch of fun lovin' folks who, across the years and the distance, remain so close to my heart.
Your classmate, for ever and always; for better or worse, till death us do part.
Mike Hawkins (aka Wolfman, Hawk, Snargins, Michael, or maybe you know me only as the goofy blond-headed kid who sold you a frog for biology and ran the 16mm projector in Conservation Club meetings)
mjhawk@dtccom.net
PS: May the upcoming event be another in a great succession of memorable reunions. Oh, yeah, I got a haircut.
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