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If old age means wisdom, well, no it doesn’t. And I can tell you so, political correctness-wise, because I’m a senior citizen myself, with lots of time to ponder life… for fun.
I was in my twenties, on a commuter subway car, when I noticed some seniors getting on. The first man to find a spot had a self satisfied smile as he pointed out to his friends where to sit. Very bold pointing indeed. Not what folks my prickly young age would do.
It struck me oldsters have a Big Idea: to have nothing to prove. Call me “into self improvement,” like a Scout collecting merit badges, but I liked that idea. Today, after years of working on my ego, I’m quite OK with you telling me where to sit, what to do. I might not do it, but I don’t “give a care” about you telling me. Even if it’s something I already know. And I don’t mind if you disparage me as being an earnest “Boy Scout”—say, when did scouting become less cool? I mean, 11 of the 12 Apollo moonwalkers had been Scouts.
Now, even as a sensible senior citizen, I still read those “crazy” science fiction magazines—not so crazy, now, for kids raised on Star Wars. They say country music has become cool, too. As for reading fiction set on earth, in Florida say— Hey, I’ve been to Fort Lauderdale, home of my literary hero of the Travis McGee series, but I didn’t look up the slip where his houseboat is docked— (Just like visiting London, where I knew better than to look for 221b Baker Street) I noticed something towards the end of the lengthy Travis series, where the two heroes are getting older: With less ego, they start giving each other more advice, such as which lane to drive in. Note: The right lane, where the guy in front of you may turn swiftly out of your way—or, in bigger burgs, the middle lane, where the truckers stay to find some peace.
In my thirties, at university full-time, I took a class on Illness and Seniors. On the first day I made the mistake of overconfidently announcing something I had learned at a Palliative Care Conference, something about the incidence of divorce after a child succumbs to cancer. Our old professor reminded me to properly document. “Say, ‘according to…’ because the figures may be wrong.” Weeks later my classmates enthusiastically told the prof that, for other classes, “Sean has really learned to document!” Actually, I had merely transferred to my spoken word the written skill I already was using as a student newspaper reporter.
One day in class I said, “According to Travis McGee, in the mystery series by John D. MacDonald, one should, in Florida, avoid living in retirement communities. Because it’s hard to feel a sense of community when people are always passing on and every block always has a “For Sale” sign.
The professor leaned forward to say, “Travis McGee is a god!” An academic, but unashamed of liking popular culture! A fellow fan! The books take place with a love of the land, of land being over-developed, and showing how small town dirty tricks work. Another book series, Jack Reacher by Lee Child was sparked when Child found a McGee book at an airport, and proceeded to track down the whole series, as Child explains in his new forward to the first Reacher book. Child’s advice ran something like: Who remembers the Lone Ranger? Everyone. Who remembers any episodes? No one. Character is king.
In my sixties now, I remember how in my day the live action Lone Ranger, and the animated series, both ran the ending credits with the William Tell Overture. I suppose jokes work best if you can relax your ego.
Joke: Q: Where does the Lone Ranger take his garbage?
A: To the dump, to the dump, to the dump-dump-dump!
Joke: Q: What is the definition of an intellectual?
A: Someone who can hear the William Tell Overture… without thinking of the Lone Ranger.
…If I visit Florida again, relaxed and ego-less, both reading books and unashamedly watching pop culture mysteries on my hotel room flat screen, (Elementary, Castle) then I will scout around to enjoy all the foibles I notice. Let’s have fun observing, because all too soon we leave a For Sale sign.
… …
… …
Sean Crawford
On the Great Plains
along highway 2A
in the town of Ponoka
August
2023
…
History Footnote: Science fiction was so uncool—like poison to regular folks who played sports—and peer pressure so intense, that as a boy Ray Bradbury tore up all his comics. He cried. (And in Stephen King’s 1963 book he satirized how a good boy on the school football team thought he had to be stupider and less cultured) Years later, some folks of Bradbury’s generation thought the moon landings were a hoax. And years after that, my local university football team would use what I call “comic nerd illustrations” in their printed game schedule.
