On tap: Fading tattoos, career advice and fights with Canada
I'm not grumpy, just realistic
By Jack
A few words of common sense and advice from Jack, a guy who has been around a while:
This tattoo on my arm? I got it when I was in the military in my early 20s. The tattoo once depicted a pretty young thing. Now, with age and gravity, I can understand why you think it looks like melting ice cream. Listen, kid, think before you get a tattoo. They are a hell of a lot more attractive on the younger you cause things are going to begin sagging.
Yeah, happy to give you some career advice: do what you like, don’t be fooled into thinking your employer gives a damn about you and don’t forget that spending time with those you love is more important than making money.
You think your romantic partner has annoying habits? What do you think they are saying about you? Just be happy someone is willing to share their life with you. No one is perfect. Appreciate them for who they are. You hear me bitching about my wife? No, because if someone could live with the likes of me all these years that woman deserves praise, not criticism. And, at my age I don’t want to sleep on the couch unless it is while watching television.
Here’s something I don’t understand: why pick a fight with Canada? It’s like picking a fight with the nice older woman living next door, the one who brings cookies over every once in a while. I just don’t get it.
When I was a kid I was an altar boy. My church paid altar boys if they served at a wedding or funeral, nothing much, usually a few bucks, enough to get a comic book, baseball cards or something at the corner bakery. Not many kids wanted to serve at a funeral mass. Me, I hate to sound ghoulish but I was ok with it if it came with a couple bucks. I’m not saying I was scouring the obits or anything, but if someone had to serve I was good with it. My folks weren’t rich, so I needed to hustle for a buck or two. Yeah, yeah, I know that doesn’t make me sound good. Hey, I was a kid. Now, I scour the obits to make sure I’m not in one.
Sometimes when I look in the mirror I wonder “what happened to the young guy who used to live here?” Don’t laugh, kid, you are going to get there a hell of a lot sooner than you think.
I grew up in a working class family in a working class town. Went to a working class college. Married and moved to another working class town. Did ok for myself. I’m proud of that.
Went to the doctor recently. When she walked in I thought it must be “bring your daughter to work day.” Nope, she was the physician. Then I realized, yeah, you are that old.
I miss playing wiffle ball and street hockey.
I also miss watching cartoons on Saturday mornings, my old Schwinn Stingray bike and that feeling of unlimited possibilities on the last day of school.
I’m getting a little sentimental, so shutting myself off. Let’s go, kid, you’re my ride.
About the author: “Who wants to know?”
Good advice Jack!