Information

Now that that's over, I feel like taking a breath and waxing familiar. That is, I'd like to lay a bit of personal info on you if you don't mind, you know, but not too much, if you know what I mean. Do you? I'm not sure I do. I mean, how much is too much? Or not enough? Since it's likely that the Government and various Large Companies already share more than I'd feel comfortable telling a spouse, suppose we treat this exposure like the tentative revelations of a first date. There, see, that wasn't so hard.

I am not new. In fact, it would be hard to express my age in terms of years, since I believe I began before we started using them. Years, I mean. You might say I have an observer's appreciation of a fair amount of history, though this is not to say I consider myself aged except in the same sense as a fine single-malt Scotch whiskey. I will admit, however, that the aphorism, "no pain, no gain", seems increasingly appropriate the more I gain on my ancestors.

All jokes about age and aches aside, I did start this blog to see how much I really have to say. It doesn't seem to me that saying things to yourself and locking them away in a secret diary counts, because there you can get away with telling yourself attractive lies. One thing I have going for me is that once upon a time I was a pretty good night club entertainer, and I know this because real live people applauded and put money in my jar. Therefore, I am certain I'll do my best out here in front of God and everybody, because nothing is worse than dying on stage if you're not Hamlet.

Anyway, for reasons perhaps to be gone into later, I now find myself earning my living by the "sweat of my brow" and armpit etc. I like construction, the more so that if you live through it you'll have a stock of priceless memories of the rowdier kind, and I like the fact that my presence does absolutely nothing to raise the average age of the industry's employees.
There is a certain amount of prestige when your co-workers refer to you as "Paw paw".

Now, thereby hangs a tale.

It seems that within the span of two or three recent days I was variously described, to my face, by a couple of my colleagues.

One, a nice youngster on the masonry crew, I believe, said, "Say, did anybody ever tell you that you look like Sean Connery?" Immediately I returned with, "Bond, James Bond?", striving for the right vocal timbre, and was rewarded with a general laugh all around. I was actually flattered and spent the rest of the day trying to remember lines of his that I could practice against my next opportunity.

That came a day or two later when a different co-worker asked, "You know who you remind me of?" I was equipping myself with a quip when he answered himself with, "Kenny Rogers, that's who." All I could think of was, "No kidding?", while wondering if he meant before or after the face lift. I then began to suspect.

Young people all seem to look alike to me; this is true until I come to know them as individuals. However, when I meet someone of my own age group I am able to immediately detect their individuality. Why? Well, one view could be that age bequeaths character through experience made visible on one's ancient visage. Or maybe not. I don't recall having any trouble recognizing my contemporaries in my youth. I think it is likely that to young people all old guys look alike, that we all recognize those in our age "club", and that including someone from another group is an act of good will.

That makes me a specific old-guy-with-a-gray-beard, and I appreciate the gesture.

I'm still holding out for Obi-wan Kenobe, but I'll probably get Popeye's Pappy. Lookout.

Regards, Daddy.