When we are young we are never old enough.  You have to be so tall and so old to ride on the large carnival rides at the county fair.  Too young to go to the movies alone; too young to drive the boat.  Too young to sit at the big people table on holidays.  Too young to stay up late with the big people.  The new thing to be too young for is to drive the car.  Some of my friends had scooters or small motorcycles.  I was green with envy.  My parents said, “motorcycles will kill you.”  I am young and invincible, don’t you know. I had a good Schwin bicycle, so how could I complain.  I tore up knees, elbows, and sometimes my head in an effort to go as fast as possible.

Fifteen came slowly and I was allowed to drive with my parents and usually did most of the driving when I was with them.  Sixteen crawled to me especially slow, because I was the second youngest in my class, born in December.  Finally I was able drive to on my own and did I.  We had a 1958 Buick station wagon with a huge V8 under all that chrome.  We dubbed it Big Blue.  It was navy blue and could bury the needle, about 130 miles per hour.  One day my Dad said, “you must have had a good time last night.”  “What do you mean,” I replied.  “I counted 13 can rings in the dust on the dash and all the ash trays were full.” he said.  I realized I wasn’t going to fool my parents about activities in the car.  They had been through the depression, World War II, Korea, and survived to raise five kids.  What I did now was what they had done 25 years earlier.

The next monumental age was eighteen because you got out of high school, left the nest, and were considered an adult.  Now being an adult, you also had to make lifetime decisions such as going to college, going to work, going to Canada, registering as a conscientious objector, or getting drafted into the military.  I couldn’t be a CO, go to Canada, or to work, so the choice was more school, reluctantly. I became a student, and temporarily avoided the military draft for my war, Vietnam.  While a college student for the next four years, 21 was the next age to long for.  Uncle Sam was taking anyone not in school and even took me out of school on a Wednesday, shipped me to Minneapolis for a physical, and then returned me with a passing grade on my physical.  Realizing I was dead meat after I graduated, I crammed all the credits needed to graduate in four years so I didn’t have to come back.  I graduated on May 27^th, 1972 and was marching with the U.S. Army on September 8^th, 1972.  I had my 21^st birthday in the Army in December.  The draft ended and the Vietnam War ended in January 1973.  Our Vietnam orders were flagged or cancelled.  I ended up guarding Washington D.C.

The 20’s are when you strike out to find yourself, someone, or something.  Having the travel bug, I traveled a great deal in Europe and Asia, lived in Hawaii for awhile, and then met my lovely wife back home in Minnesota.  Married at 28, a father at 30 and 34, I now had to make my mark in the World.  For the next 30 years I made my mark selling.  I sold boats, cars, airplanes, insurance, investments, solar panels, and a few things in between.  One is supposed to think about retiring when sixty rolls around.  I thought about it, but needed to stay busy, so I applied for a plain labor job at a grocery store stocking shelves. But 60 in an employer’s eyes is old, so now I am too old.  It doesn’t matter that you are in shape, educated, and would be a good employee.  You are 60 and old.  I have applied for a couple dozen jobs that require a GED, speak English, and are alive.  So far, I am apparently on the other end of the age spectrum, too old.

Be careful what age we wish for, we will most certainly get it.                Published every Wednesday, at least.