How many times through the years have you heard a DJ introduce a recording as an oldie but a goodie.
I now realize that I have become exactly that, an oldie but a goodie.
And what might you ask makes you think you are a goodie? Oldie one gets without the need for an explanation.
Perhaps it is the fact my memory now resides in Google and the things I remember and treasure are on Facebook pages I share with thousands of others. We realize there is a limited number of us who are aware things we once adored ever existed. But thankfully I can still recall the things that made childhood so special.
Of course the very accomplishment of reaching that certain age, puts you in a category that should be applauded.
As Barry Manilow sings, “I made it through the rain…”
So if indeed I did, and we all did, then what now?
What is our next great achievement?
Becoming an oldie but a goodie seems rather lackluster, although damn nice to hear.
What is our next stage? Antique?
Rare antiquity? Salvageable?
Should I run every time I see someone resembling Indiana Jones heading in my direction?
Is my fate to stand alongside Cleopatra’s barge in some museum as an example of how wrinkles evolved?
It must give one pause. So I’m pausing. Largely because I need to more often now. Pause I mean. Racing through stuff is no longer the option it once was.
Currently, sharing becomes selective. Telling your grandchildren about meeting Soupy Sales loses its flavor when they turn to you with a blank stare and ask, “What’s a Soupy Sales?”
I now understand our accomplishments, exciting moments, and fulfilled goals must be taken at face value. Our face. And despite the fact we now have so many more moments to share, there are fewer left who have any idea what we’re talking about.
Thus the need for Facebook pages dedicated to stuff that happened sixty years ago.
So finding an old hanger from a department store we hung out at over sixty years ago that no longer exists seems exciting to us. Especially when you can post it on your Facebook page and there will actually be others who are equally jubilant.
I dread to think what would happen if Facebook disappeared and we had to wander the streets talking to ourselves or anyone who would listen about how we found the recipe for J.L. Hudson’s Maurice dressing..
I’d prefer to tell my grandchildren that elevators used to have uniformed people in them pushing the buttons and opening doors.
Still, as their eyes glaze over you might regret not posting about it on Facebook instead.
Here’s a scary thought. What if you had to go through life boring everyone you meet until you heard snoring as you recount how you lost your skate key from around your neck.
Can you even imagine how millennials would look at you if you told them your mother filled twenty books of S&H Green Stamps to get a toaster?
Or that a bank used to give small appliances away to get you in the door to open an account?
Now you’re lucky if there’s anyone there to even help you at a teller window.
I don’t believe they want to be bored when you share these little gems from your past. I just think young people can’t in any way relate. Let’s face it, things are very different now.
There is no way anyone would believe you didn’t pay for light bulbs or Bill Knapp’s gave you a free cake for dessert on your birthday.
It so begs credulity you may as well walk into a party and announce you just arrived from Mars on the Concord.
Telling my grandsons we had trucks driving through the neighborhood selling baked goods. Or a milkman dressed like milk sounds like a fairy tale to kids that can order anything they want with one click on Amazon.
Yes, I understand that times change and life moves at breakneck speed, especially as you age. Still, is it so terrible to believe Clarence got his wings when that bell rang?
I agree living in the moment may be the right thing to do. But is wanting to remember some of the happiest times of your life and share them so bad?
I feel lucky that my grandsons will take time off from building robots or Minecraft and listen to my tales of the past. Sure, a yawn may slip out, but they listen. And at times they are even intrigued by my tales from ancient times like the fifties and sixties. Or the events that colored our lives in the past.
I can’t tell you how often my grandson has asked me to tell him about the day JFK was assassinated because he knows how important a memory it is for me.
So even if it’s a pity listen, I’ll take it gladly because it’s borne out of love. And at least he understands who John F. Kennedy was and how much he meant to Baby Boomers.
I know we need to have a balance now. It’s important to keep making new memories as we selfishly guard the old. Exactly what that balance is, don’t ask me. I still consider a balanced breakfast a sleeve of Oreos dipped in a glass of milk.
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