Can a Geezer Be a Role-Model?
Back in the day: we geezers say this a lot or at least we think it. Back in the day each of us underwent a metamorphosis. We entered a chrysalis as boys. We emerged men, sort of. The difference between us and insects is that our process takes years and the cocoon is transparent and the kid is involved in the process and has to make choices. Also we don’t change our essential shapes, not much. We get bigger and stronger and sexual. Our genitals increase in size, as do our vocal cords. What we don’t do is turn from caterpillars into moths.
Here in America a young man has many choices, and he has so little wisdom and experience to base them on. An emerging youth is desperate for models, some older man whose footsteps he can walk in at least for a spell. It starts out with a father or a grandfather or stepfather or uncle or big brother or his mother’s boyfriend. If this is a good fit he may follow it all the way into the family business and thru it. If there’s nobody playing a father much at all, or playing him stupidly or cruelly, a boy has to find his own. Candidates abound. Teachers and coaches and priests and pastors and tough guys on the street. It’s a chancy crowd. A kid might not make it. He might get owned and lose control of his soul. He might be led astray. The path he steers might not be his best fit.
But most kids do survive and become men. More or less, they make it thru. They hear voices singing of romance and calling them yonder. They follow of course, but the way can be dangerous, and many of us drop by the wayside. Many of us thus became geezers, geezers never quite fulfilled.
Now here we are, salty old farts. What do we have to offer in our decrepitude, in our ludicrousness? We have flaws all over us. Our dentures slur our speech. We stand up from a chair and stagger around and maybe fall back into it. We fart voluminously. Our bladders grow suddenly frantic and off we rush.
None of this is cool and no use trying to pretend otherwise. If we learn anything of use here, it’s to resist feeling embarrassed by what and how we are. We can demonstrate for our grandchildren the art of shamelessness. We can demonstrate the heavy lifting of just pressing on. As old and as damaged as we are, we can avoid giving up.
There’s still time, even if you’re on your deathbed, still time to find an entry to your weed-strewn destiny. Somebody comes along with a flashlight. There may be a glimpse of something. A person, an act, a creation may inspire you, even this lame old geezer that you are.
There are guys who have lived remarkable geezerhoods. You know about them only because they’ve put themselves in the public eye. But you can see them there remotely, and maybe they can shed some light and open a window or two. Over the next weeks the posts will be about two of these guys . You won’t be able to emulate them. They started their public lives at early ages. You’re late to the parade. What you can do is see possibilities. You can see what a geezer still can do at an advanced age. You can taste the honey. You can take a step beyond where you’ve sunk your roots. You can take a risk. Afterwards you can give a little inspiration yourself. You can be an example of what?
Maybe just pressing on. Go with care. The risks are real.