50 Years A Knave…


DSCF0677aI am sitting in the driver’s seat of my tractor-trailer semi-truck, staring at my laptop screen with that blank, vacant early morning gaze we all know so well….

[Sip of coffee]

[Face grimace….not enough sweetener]

What should I write about this fine Saturday morning?

I have no idea…..yet.

Let’s just go with it and see how it shakes out…

How does the old adage go…?

“Write what you know, paint what you see, scratch what itches and sing what you feel.”

If that is not the old adage I’m trying to recall, or the one y’all were thinking about; then I just made it up.

It’s a new adage…

….or maybe it’s a tad partial unintended flagrant plagiarism….

[Self-pleased leer]

[Sip of coffee]

It is one week until I turn 50 years old.

I don’t know exactly what time of the morning I was born in Biloxi, Mississippi on that 5th of September, 1964.

[I didn’t even need spell check for Mississippisisppsi}

I’m planning on waking up between 3 am and 7 am to usher in the milestone.

Is it really happening?

Am I, Bobby Hampton Clarke III, aka Treyzguy, really becoming 50…years…old?

274_custom-efa872e7a347073668fff56c4d203299f9417425-s6-c30

[Longer sip of coffee]

My grandpa was 50 years old….my dad was 50 years old….old houses in my hometown are 50 years old.

I’m not supposed to be 50 years old.

[Knocking on wood]

[Note to self: Don’t tempt the reaper]

 

I still smell the fresh cut grass of my high school football field as I ran onto it before the kick-off.

That’s the day I knew I would live forever.

As I jog onto the field of battle under the blinding stadium lights, the grass is still a little damp from the sprinklers; glistening and trembling like a carpet sparkled with diamonds and emeralds, heralding the arrival of the blood thirsty gladiator….

As the great warrior ran, the earth shook under his mighty tread…

That’s the day I realized, that I would be 16 years old forever.

Only other people grow old.

Serves them right….

That all seems like a dream now; 34 years ago….

34…years….

[Shaking my head….sip of coffee….]

Why do we have memories older than our recall of them?

How come the past is always in the present?

My early family shot
My early family shot

Life is not about the past, but it is….

It is impossible to live in the present without the past…

Much to my chagrin…

The past shapes us….the experiences define us….The future lies to us….

“It’ll be better tomorrow” or “What’s the point?”

I’d like to forget some of my past; wipe ‘em off the slate.

That’s not how it works though…

We are a jigsaw puzzle that is always missing the next piece, that I like to call; tomorrow.

Life is the puzzle that is never finished.

There is always that one piece left in the box…dammit.

It might be sky blue, with a smidgen of clouds; at least I think its clouds.

It might be green, like my shining field of battle.

It may be a non-descript white…or is it gray?

But where does the last piece go?

We’ll never know, until the trumpet sounds.

I can picture myself walking thru the pearly gates; kinda glad I made it to the big house; and God walks up to me and hands me the last piece of my jigsaw puzzle and says; “It’s an extra piece, just in case you needed it.”

Great….

All that time I spent trying to figure out how to complete the jigsaw puzzle of my life, and the last freaking piece was an extra.

Worrying for no reason….451

Am I really turning 50 years old?

Is this real?

Is this actually happening?

[Sip of cold coffee]

[Face grimace]

This sux; this next part….

I will start hearing younger people saying;

“Here, let me get that for you old timer…”

…or

“Age before beauty” as they open a door for me…

…or

“Mr. Clarke! My word….! You can’t be wandering the hospital floor without any pants on!”

images (14)

That will be the one perk for getting older I guess…

I can wander the halls of a quaint old folk’s home with complete abandon and extreme nudity.

A little vacant stare here, a little drool there….and I’m off to check out the new female residents….and make sure they are comfortable….and I’ll get away with it.

Plus, I hear that all the newbies get fresh Jell-o….

“Poor old Mr. Clarke…..”

“Completely bat shit….”

“Man, I hope I’m not like that when I get old.”

“He’s a randy old bastard though….”

All of a sudden I don’t feel so depressed about turning 50 years old.

I won’t worry about tomorrow.

I won’t worry about September the 5th, 2014.

I will just get on my rapidly and frequently creaking knees and thank God that I’ve made it this far.

So many haven’t…

For a man that was never promised tomorrow, I’ve been pretty lucky.

I’ve seen a few….download (97)

As long as my tomorrows turn into yesterdays, I really don’t have much to bitch about…

Do I?

See? It worked…

“Write what you know, paint what you see, scratch what itches and sing what you feel”

I’ll just focus on today…

Hmm…

The jigsaw piece I have in my hand is sky blue…..

Not a hint of clouds on it….

So, where does it go?

50 years is a long time, now that I think about it…

Pretty fortunate, I guess.

Thanx for humoring the old guy and spending some time with me….

images (13)I have so little left…Muwahahaha!

oops….

[Re-note to self: That whole tempt the reaper thingee…]

Chiao.

3 thoughts on “50 Years A Knave…”

  1. Great piece! Remember the good times, sure is better than focusing on the mistakes. Where the hell did you get the picture of the old dude in the underwear? I am assuming you were the one in the family picture with the cute little bows! LOL Just get over it already, three days hence from your birthday is my 51st and I am not sweating it at all.

    Peace & Love at ya’

  2. Hey you! Yep, you! You are darn lucky to have made it to 50 and I bet the angels have had to do some fancy foot work to keep things on the up and up with the guy at the gate. Tom and I are so far ahead of you in years, there’s no comparison. Tom told me he has socks older than you! I don’t think so, but anything’s possible with Tom. I love your writing style here but don’t tempt the devil too many times, okay. Sheri

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