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Acually, as the vision in my eyes starts to fail me, the more my life is starting to come into focus. Years and years of misspent youth…wow…if I had only known then… Is everyone getting less intelligent or is it just me starting to make sense of things that never made sense before?
I look at things with a sense of urgency now. I know that in my mid-forties, my body only has about 10 years (hopefully) of absolute health left before things start hurting in my sleep and I wake up with a full-body hang-over more and more (tequila’s a bitch now-a-days). So is riding dirt bikes with my son…but damn…I love it all.
So…I want to do it all now. I’ve done a lot of amazing things already but I just didn’t have the sense to enjoy them then.
I’ve spent the last 15 years or so of my life furthering my education…Dad, I’m smart now. Now I’m the most educated uneducated man on the planet. Degrees hanging on the wall (5 of them all total)…reminding me that I’ve never been to Belize, never walked the streets of New York after midnight, never had two women at once, missed my kids growing up, damn…what a selfish bastard. It’s all been about me…and yet, it hasn’t. It really hasn’t. Talk about paradigms. Stand back…the world awaits.
I’ve flown a plane (earned a pilot’s license at 18), drove a submarine (four years in the Navy), traveled the world, got drunk with the best of friends, and married the most beautiful girl in the world (second marriage) with whom I’m totally in love, rode a Honda and a Harley (Harley won…still riding one. Class and rumble will always win.) but I can’t help think I’ve missed a significant portion of my life while sitting behind this goddamn computer. May I forgive myself. God’s too busy and sometimes I think he doesn’t like me anymore. I can’t blame Him…I don’t like myself anymore. But I know He has a sense of humor. My parents don’t…and they hate me.
I could have been a songwriter…hell, I could have even been on the stage. Skills for thrills…I can even still rhyme…and I don’t need that mundane hip-hop beat to do it. Imagine that, kids! Music… I can remember what it was like when it told a story…a somewhat clean one, for the most part…desperation, lost love, unrequited love, wrongs yet to be made right, or just plain kick ass rhythm that caused even your butt to move across the seat and the hands to break out in a ridiculous imitation air guitar or drum rendition. Take a listen to “The Blues Man” by Hank Williams Jr., or “Misery and Gin” by Merle Haggard for the kind of heart wrenching stuff that makes me an American man.
I need to be sitting on the deck of my yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean, drinking a cold Bud light with plenty of friends surrounding me…or even in Furr’s parking lot in Midland, Texas, across from Sonic on the old main drag, on the tailgate of my old ’64 Chevrolet listening to Huey Lewis and the News and drinking the same Bud Light. But, alas, I sold my bass boat…and my submarine has been scrapped and I’m probably shaving with the remnants. Sold the Chevy, too. I can’t remember how to fly. Damn it.
But, I still feel young! What the hell are the wrinkles and gray hair doing here? There are not supposed to be hairs in my nose, are there? What are they doing on my old friends? They still sound the same… Except now they don’t worry about finding the next party. How will we look to the neighbors… outside drinking a Bud Light? Hope I can still get it up tonight…not a problem…but with those commercials, maybe I should consider taking a pill to be like Bob? Banks are failing but I’m not…at least not today.
Can I still be an astronaut when I grow up? Are these cigars still really bad for me? Why can’t my grandfather still be alive to give me advice when I most need it? I remember him standing, waiting on me, in his over-alls and straw hat and cane, to get off the airplane on my first leave after completing Navy bootcamp. He didn’t smile often but he did then. I miss him. Ain’t it funny the things you remember?
Hell, I didn’t even grow up with computers or cell phones…and now I have to teach people how to turn them on and avoid the ones trying to run my Hog off the road while they are filling in their friends on the latest bit of drama in their ‘oh-so-dramatic’ teen-age lives via cryptic push-button, high-tech Morse-code via hands’full car phones that just can’t wait 20 minutes…or at least until they get off the Interstate. Damn, how did I survive being so out of touch as a teenager? I was an idiot I guess. Damn-it to Hell. If I would have had these tools, I probably would have been much more successful in the dating department in high school. Imagine, leaving that someone a special “I think you are hot” message without actually having to deliver it in person. Even better…maybe a few more of my teenage dream queens could have delivered that message to me. I know there had to have been at least one that was a little shy, right?
My little brother’s dead…been that way for almost 20 years now. God, I definitely miss him. He probably would have identified with some of this crap. He’s forever a kid to me…died at the ripe old age of 20. I think his kids, if he would have had them, would have liked me. Nobody else does, hell…but they would have to love a relative, right? Uncle…would have been great. And it isn’t fair to my parents…isn’t fair for the world. I know he would have been a better man than me. Kenny Chesney’s video “Who You’d Be Today” really makes me think. Yes, he would have be such a better man than I have turned out to be. I still can’t believe he’s gone.
What’s left for me? An obtuse question, yep,…but a lot. Life has really just begun. I’ve got to find those old friends and make new ones. It isn’t over. I think…no it is probably better not to…. Memories, they make great fuel. Bucket list my ass. I have at least two barrels…Where is that purple shirt? My ass still looks good in Levis…at least to the ladies who haven’t taken advantage of Lasik surgery.
My wife says I have a negative attitude. I don’t think it is negative. No, maybe just un-reimbursed. Is that even a word? Life doesn’t owe me. I owe it. Period. It’s a debt I’m in a hurry to repay. Screw diets and worrying if my cholesterol number is two points higher than medical science, in its infinite modern wisdom, says it should be. I’ll take the steak, medium-well please. Throw in the loaded baked potato and …yes, I’ll have a Budweiser. I’ve been responsible for everything for the past twenty-something years and I’m sick of it. It is still my world to conquer. Get the hell out of my way. World too warm for you? Deal with it and buy some god-damned sunscreen to cover your whining, pasty, pink ass. Want my guns? Come and try to get ‘em…and come ready. I’m loaded…literally and figuratively.
AC/DC still rules…so does Def Leppard…and Boston…and Bob Seger…and Charlie Rich (God, why doesn’t anyone bring the world into perspective like he did anymore?). Willie and Waylon…still my heroes. Two wheels are still cooler than four. With age comes treachery. Want to lay around on your ass and expect me to pick up your hospital bill when you take your brats for a runny nose? I feel for you but I just can’t reach you…and I’m not paying for you either. Kids still stupid after 80 hours a week of reality shows and video games? Make an appointment with Dr. Phil. Cry to Oprah. Then reload the frig…they will be with you for a while. Enjoy!
Negative? Nah…just as the nice country lady says… “my give-a-damn’s broken.” Done my time…cared…made sacrifices, done. Paid my dues…had my card punched. Time for living…my way. Punch my time card and clock me the hell out of this skate-by, something-for-nothing mess. I’ve worked for every ass-kickin I’ve ever received (and I received a few well-deserved ones.)…and if your thinkin’ I deserve another…then bring it…and bring help. I’m not as tough as I once was…but as Toby Keith puts it…I’m still good once as I once was…and I’m still scary mean. Tongue kiss this rattlesnake…
Don’t get me wrong. I love my country…or at least the ideals for which it used to stand. And I’d love to put a size 12D up that stink-eyed Iranian prick or that little pickle-smoking North Korean’s ass. Suit me back up. My uniform still fits (with modifications…where’s my holsters?). I’ll stand at the front of the line right along with those there right now. America, by God, it’s still worth my life. Don’t discount the fightin’ fat boy. Two hundred and forty-five pounds of pure fuckin’ meanness wrapped in a Harley-Davidson T-shirt, Levis, chains, and a not-so-concealed Glock. Give me an AK and stand the fuck out of the way. Yes, I will shoot you…forty times…without hesitation. America…no need for apologies…period. Wanna give your life for Allah? Step right the fuck up. He knows I will shoot you and hopefully he’ll shove your sorry ass right in my way. When we meet in the afterworld, I will be the first to plant my boot up your ass just so God will know I’m still pissed…and I tend to carry a grudge.
Why all this? Just an another disgruntled old fool? Maybe. But one with a hella-of-a-lot of compression left…and a lotta miles. And I’m still firing on all cylinders. I don’t owe you a god-damned thing but I’ll share a six-pack with you if you will carry your own.
Point is…there is nothing wrong with old school. And there may be just a few card-carrying old fuckers out here with my same mindset. Here’s to balls…and those that still carry ‘em.
