it's just a number

another birthday.


17 was a good year. I had a motorcycle, didn't have to buy groceries, and I spent the summer mowing lawns, riding my motorcycle, and hanging out with my buddies. 17 was good.


Through the magic of Facebook (that Zuckerberg, didn't he look nice in a suit in front of Congress?) I have been reading and seeing my high school classmates (Class of '77, do the math) celebrate their birthdays as we approach or hit the 6-0 mark. 41 years ago we marched to Pomp and Circumstance, heard some speeches about changing the world, or it's all in front of us, or some other semi rhetorical pearls.


Now please leave our school, get jobs, pay taxes, have a life. And try not to get caught.


Save a few experiences with the Dixon Police Department and the California Highway Patrol, I did not get caught. Looking back, I must have had some major luck to get this far. And too many of our classmates have not made it this far. That leaves the rest of us to deal with grief and maybe even some survivor's guilt.


It's pretty sobering to think that I am now older than most of my high school teachers were when I sat in their classes. And didn't they seem old? Yikes. I was born right before Camelot and spent grade school and junior high years in the Vietnam era.  We came of age in the 70's. Remember Watergate, the fall of Saigon (on my 16th birthday), Burt Reynolds movies (who didn't want a Black Trans Am?) and, sadly, disco. I told my cowboy buddies the only reason I went to see Saturday Night Fever was because of the girl I was dating then. 40 years later I say 'I saw that classic when it came out', as if I had some 18 year old insight into pop culture and it's last effects on the American psyche.


Moving on to the 80's it was marriage, having a  kid, hitting 30, losing my dad, and drifting.


The 90's saw another kid, a major upheaval in location (Why did you leave Marin County and wind up in St Paul? Well, this is where the gas money ran out), earning a degree, and the start of my first real career. I've had jobs and I've had careers. It might be said that a career is better than a job. Well, that's bullshit. I've had great jobs, lousy jobs, and career highs and lows. The money spends the same. The kids didn't care if I had a job or career. They just wanted some time with dad. (ok, I'm assuming they did. I think they did, except of course from ages 15 - 19, when parents ceased to exist. A temporary condition.)


The turn of the century brought on my second career right before 9/11, kids growing up, and the loss of a real good friend. Into the 'teens' it was another degree, losing my mom and the kids getting all growed up and leaving the house.


Boys, please get jobs, pay taxes, have a good life. And try not to get caught.


The horizon that masked retirement for so long is now in sight. And, looking damned more inviting than ever. Getting up at 5 to shag my ass into work and tolerate bureaucracy and millennials is not fun anymore. And, who knows, maybe some grandchildren at some point. (no, none on the way that I know of) I was in strict denial about becoming a grandpa for a long time, but now it's beginning to look interesting. Kind of like renting a cool car, then dropping it off before you have to do maintenance. Yeah I can see myself taking a grandkid to a ballgame, movies, motorcycle rides.


A couple years ago, a small group of us from work took an afternoon off and went for a motorcycle ride. A few weeks later, one the guys caught me at work and said '..you ride 20 years younger than you are"


errr, well, ok, thanks. I guess. But inside I was giving myself a major fist bump. There's a 17 year old still inside, and he comes out every once in awhile. Use the Force, Luke, let go.


yeah, it's just a number.  It's getting bigger every year. And before you say it, yes it beats the alternative.


And now, to bring this to a merciful close, a couple song quotes.


"Cowboy in the Jungle" by Jimmy Buffett


Spinning around in circles
Living it day to day
And still twenty four hours, maybe sixty good years
It's still not that long a stay.


"Much too Young to Feel this Damned Old" by Garth Brooks

And the white line's getting longer and the saddle's getting cold
I'm much too young to feel this damn old
All my cards are on the table with no ace left in the hole
I'm much too young to feel this damn old

Lord, I'm much too young to feel this damn old

why I do this

At the end of the movie 'Stand By Me', there is a voice over that says'" although I hadn't seen him in more than ten years, I know I'll miss him forever"

Yesterday was the birthday of the best friend I ever had.  Every year I try to do a little post with some pictures, of my friend Gene. I post some pictures, write a few words, and then watch as people read the words, see the pictures, then make a nice comment about him, or me, as the friend who misses him.

Sometimes I wonder why I do this, as he has been gone several years now. Maybe I should move on, and not succumb to the periods of maudlin behavior. Well, those are fleeting thoughts.

I don't know if there is an afterlife. Maybe yes, maybe no. I'd like to think so, that there is some reward for us when it is all over. What I do firmly believe in, is that Gene will never really be gone as long as we remember him. He lived a good life and deserves to be remembered. There are a lot of people, family and friends, that miss him, I'm not alone in that. So I do my part, I post a picture, I try to find some words to write down, and hope that his memory will never fade.

I was not a easy friend for Gene to have, he said on more than one occasion that I 'stretched the bounds of friendship.'  He was right, I can't deny that. But, he was a true friend, he not only valued friendship and loyalty, he lived it. He would never admit it, but he lead by example.

I moved away from Gene and all the friends I grew up with about 24 years ago, in search of better opportunities and some adventure. As the years passed, I would call Gene now and then to catch up, usually on or around his birthday. I missed the day one year, and called about a week later.

"hey Gene how's it going? I meant to call you on your birthday, but I got busy and forgot."

  .... or some lame excuse like that.

I expected him to let me off the hook. But, his reply was

"...I noticed."

  Oh. Just hang the sign 'world's worst friend' around my neck and parade me through town.

 I'm sure he enjoyed that. I bet he was smiling when we were done talking and hung up.

  I got it in my head that when Gene  hit his 50th birthday, I would show up at his place in a nice rent a car and tell him to pack a bag, we're doing a road trip. What a great idea. The 50th was a few years or more away, and we'd have another adventure. Wow, what a cool idea. Waaaay cool.

But, he didn't make it to his 50th. He fell about 4 years short of it.

What the hell was I thinking? Waiting for some magic number to happen, so we'd have an excuse to have an adventure. What crap. Just wanting to have an adventure is reason enough. Shit.

Now, I'm not going to go on about 'life is short' or some other well worn axiom. I won't do that. No one needs me to tell them that. What I will say, is that regret is a tough thing to live with, as tough as grief. Both very hard to get over, if at all.

What I do say is that Gene's final gift to me was to get past the crap and just get on with what you want to do. Take the road trip. Call your best friend. And if your best friend is no longer on this earth, take him or her on the adventure anyhow.

Because, they are never really gone as long as we remember them.

la vie dasante