I recommended the age-old old-age topic to the Buckaroo.
Cocky me thought I could write a piece so full of longevity’s rewards as to inspire universal admiration and anticipation among the young.
Starting with “Sure beats the alternative” and thinking to mine a rich vein of elder advantage, I falter at “the alternative”.
Not so many months ago, I slipped into utter darkness off a brightly lit open-air barstool in Haleiwa. Waking up on my back in a beer puddle, surrounded by worried faces and solicitous words, I inventory, finding no pain, blood, bumps, or bruises. Where am I? Check. Who am I? Check.
Do I want an ambulance? No need. You sure? Guarans. Not just the beer and the heat, it was the beer, the heat, and the edibles. You sure? Positive. K’den, aloha. Mahalos. Heaven in Haleiwa, the alternative.
Another alternative to old age is callow youth, less appealing by too many measures than falling off a barstool into temporary eternity. Hey, young guys. How’s your pandemic going? How about your climate change? Racial antagonism? Sexual ambiguity and intolerance? Political malfeasance? Anti-Vaxxers? Proud Boys? Assault rifles? Rising tides of madness everywhere?
One of the really good things about being old is having the leisure to think about all the noble things you did on the way here, your generous, sometimes courageous, contributions to a clearheaded, compassionate social ambiance, a world full of hope and promise.
Oh-oh. Sorry, Buckaroo. I wasn’t thinking.