Tuesday, June 7, 2016

Do You, Mr. Jones?

Standing on the bus stop this morning I watched an old guy walking toward me who reminded me of my dad - short with a fedora, baggy pants and a cloth jacket. He was carrying a department store bag with a saunter and he looked to be about my age. As he passed me, my eyes took in the faded but still lovely curly tattoo running up the back of his neck and into his short grey hair, and I thought Yes! We are old in this together!

The old joke is that if you remember the 60s, then you weren't really there. But that is just something we tell the others so they won't feel bad and get a laugh at the same time.  I do remember, and I am delighted to have been in the right place at the right time, to have been part of a culture that took full advantage of the freedoms for which our parents paid a Great War. I am proud that we spent our youth expanding our minds, experimenting with institutions, questioning authority, and expecting truth. I am grateful we decorated our youthful bodies while we still had them, as most certainly did my tatooed friend. And I am tickled pink with the opportunities we have as seniors to raise other grey eyebrows in recognition and smile. Wear your colors, folks. We are still here.


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