Old White Guy

I’m a relic. Some would say a dinosaur; almost an endangered species. Even worse, I’m straight, middle class, Catholic (sort of), neither right nor left but comfortably ensconced in the middle depending on the issue/s. In other words, I’m an average old white guy and clearly out of flavor for the times.

Old white guys are no longer the norm. In fact, we’re the enemy to many in our progressive society. That’s a real issue with some other white guys I know. They’re uncomfortable with all this talk about our immigration policies, our hard earned money going overseas and talk about abuse in the Catholic Church. These and a raft of other political and social issues that up until now they’ve felt they had no say about.

They have a host of people, places, and things to point their fingers at. Forget the fact that as the one finger points outward, the others fold back at the accuser. I suspect one of their favorite culprits, the swinging sixties, had a lot to do with it. Civil rights, women’s rights, gay liberation, and sexual freedom all pointed the way toward a more democratic, fairer, and more equitable world for those oppressed among us.

When analysts and pundits were trying to figure out how Donald Trump won the White House, they happened upon this disgruntled majority who felt like a minority. They documented this group’s feeling of unattachment to the success of the rest of the country. We’re told they felt threatened by the browns and blacks stealing their jobs. They believed their old order was under attack and only a return to the world of Ozzie and Harriett was the answer.

Now we have the MeToo movement churning up the business and entertainment waters trolling for past offenders. The Golden Globes and Academy Awards celebrate their diversity in hosting, awards and acknowledgements. A closer examination of theaters in many cities finds a definite slant toward new words by women of color, members of the LGBT community and other often ignored members of our greater society. The odd man out in this equation is the average white guy because he had played such a prominent role in American history for the past two hundred plus years.

Many will argue instead of dress up, the time is ripe for real change and they couldn’t be more spot on. These changes have been a long time in coming and should be welcomed by everyone in our society. Unfortunately, as so often happens, what is good for the gander can be curtains for the goose.

It’s not really that bad for us old White guys, and the pendulum will swing the other way over time. All of those other tribes that haven’t had a chance at the opportunity that is the United States of America should experience the full scope of what this country has to offer.

For many of those newly enfranchised folks will come the realization that their difference will, in time, not make any difference at all. They will then be judged by the width and breath of their talent, their commitment and their dedication to their goal, focus, art and passion. Then the color of their skin and their gender and sexual orientation will take a back seat to their talent …just as it should.

Maybe in some far off distant future we won’t notice the color of their skin, their gender, their sexual orientation, and only focus on the important thing; their soul and ‘are they a good person.’

Just sayin’.

Christmas 2018

Every season we have casualties. It’s just part of the ebb and flow of life in the desert. This year the kid’s favorite pool slide bit the dust, or more seasonally speaking, developed too many hot summer cracks to heal. The same thing happened to our crocodile and no one remembers where the whale (or was it a shark?) went to since last fall.

The Unicorn had its bottom ripped out and tail deflated but it retained its role as pirate ship, oversized ring with a head, something to conquer and a floating club house. Cash, the new Labradoodle, took it all in from the shade of a palm tree. Thankfully, there were five good days of swimming instead of the anticipated two.

A new adventure for this family rendezvous was rock climbing. Auto belay, bouldering, and assisted belay were skills learned on the spot and the kids took to the walls like seasoned veterans from Joshua tree.

Our Martha Stewart wannabes focused on candies this time around. Not a surprise considering Nana’s success at filling the house for newest Papa’s play. Art Classes consisted of painting t-shirts and other objects not moving. There were paint- by –the- numbers and Jackson Pollack exhibitions.

We had a world premiere of ‘Kitten’s Bad Day,’ a new play written by Papa just for this new ensemble trope of unseasoned actors. They called themselves ‘Sweet Pea and the Gang’ after a comic strip that Papa has yet to write. Sharon continued her promotional skills by filling the house (living room) with family and friends.

We all celebrated Christmas Eve services at Hope Lutheran Church in Palm Desert. They had a (rock and roll band) according to Brennan which kept the crowd moving to the music and inspired by the pastor’s message of hope and love and a wonderful new year.

There was a minor calm before the storm; opening Christmas presents. Then it was eleven days of too much eating, drinking, playtime, running around town and good-natured mischief on a daily basis. Just the kind of atmosphere for building wonderful memories at Nana and Papas place in the sun.

As the children snuggled in their beds and the adults retreated to the kitchen for cocktails and conversation, a worn out Unicorn peeked over the wall and worried about coyotes wandering the golf course at night.

Stages

The Coachella Valley gets a lot of top-flight entertainers during high season. Not long ago, I saw a doo-wop show of rock and roll artists from the fifties and sixties. Rating the show, I’d give it a solid C. It only rated a C because two of the four acts should have retired ten or twenty years ago. Their grasp of the music had long since slipped away along with their tired voices.

Instead of resting on their well-deserved laurels, these aging rockers were still clinging to the sad assumption that audiences would revel in their act and not recognize their many shortcomings. Unfortunately the audience was as old as the performers and not very forgiving of their failed effort at still rocking it in their eighties. Most of us felt we hadn’t gotten what we paid for.

That got me to thinking about old age and the four stages we all passed through to get there. Four stages roughly calibrated to benchmark some of life’s milestones and recognize the unmarked passages one slips through while here on earth.

0 – 25 years of age

Mickey and I [Photo courtesy of Jerry Hoffman]

Most of us are trying to figure it all out and get an education at the same time. We learn, we love and we’re making babies. Then reality sets in and we go to work, figurative and literally. It’s one great big learning process and some of us never stop learning.

25- 50 years of age

We think we’re getting it together then reality sets in at work, in marriage and child rearing makes it stressful, wonderful and mainly a continuing lesson in life.

50 – 75 years of age

Some of us end up playing catch-up with our health, relationships, and world experiences. We come to realize that in the long term ‘Health is Wealth.’ We’d better watch our whiskey and donuts if we want to stick around a little longer.

75 – 100 years of age

Now it gets more interesting. We’re facing our own mortality. We’ve made it this far but we’re on that sometimes subtle, gradual downhill slide. This can be the toughest stage because unlike some of our friends, loved ones and associates, we got this far and a lot of them didn’t. Now it’s time to reflect on how we got here and what to do next. The recognition that health is everything becomes even more pronounced at this stage.

Some folks think of aging as simply an inexorable decline that ends in death. And our fear of death has become almost pathological. Along with this apathy is the dread of decline. Our bodies are slowing down and are often trailed by a tired mind. Some would argue that it’s inevitable and settled back in their easy chair.

But life is movement, either physically or mentally. The secret is to keep moving, keep busy, be active and do something, do anything. Ideally, it should be something worthwhile for yourself, for others, for whatever motivates you in the first place.

There is also that nagging question some of us can’t ignore; Potential. Did we or can we still reach our potential, no matter what it might be? Honestly, I think any attempt at ‘trying’ is success in the making. One argument is that we are all ultimately responsible for our own success. That’s an exercise that starts between the ears but must face our own individual reality first.

Everyone faces their own mortality differently. I’d like to believe that a life’s worth of experiences can and should fuel a hunger for more. A vision quest for improvement and a desire to make a difference if only in one’s own mind.

Then again, that’s where it all started in the first place.