By "kid," however, I do not mean a goat. Nor am I referring to a child, one of those cuddly miracles from a sentimental God who routinely reduce the rational adults around them to states of mewling immaturity until they enter their terrible twos or, worse, their treacherous teens.
No, I'm talking about those young people who have survived into their own callow adulthoods and have begun packing on the density of maturity.
"Kids," as I mean to use the term, are not hippies or punks. They've outgrown those impulses and are beginning to consider things like salaries and commitments. They're like you or me before life burned us out and jaded us. They're somewhat serious-minded and sincere without yet comprehending the need for an IRA, much less what one is. They're still fresh.
And when they're respectful and considerate and don't keep you awake too late, they help to keep you young. Or, at least, on your toes. So kids have their place. My advice is, if you've still got any stamina left, you should get yourself a few.
You need to treat them right, however. Don't impose on them or be too mean, and they'll come when you call. They'll pick up the Cheetos you dropped on the floor. They'll even pour you glasses of wine from the bottle they pulled off your rack in the kitchen. They'll make you laugh and forget why you were pitying yourself a few hours ago. And they'll make you feel wise and important when you spout off about the good old days like you know what you're talking about.
With any luck they might even visit you in the hospital when everybody else you know has already died ahead of you. Hell, they might even drive you home after your bypass. You never know.
The kids I have are pretty cool. Of course, they're already taken, so you'll have to find your own.
It's not that hard.
You don't want to appear too needy at first. That generally scares them off. You have to take your time. Sit still for a while so they won't think you're on the attack. Gradually, you can start leaving scraps of food around. They'll begin to trust you then. Not long after that, they'll start coming up to you on their own when you're resting on that bench in the park; and in no time at all, they're domesticated; and they're yours for life.
Until the day comes when it's time to put 'em down.
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Sunday, July 10, 2011
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The politics of a "kid":
ReplyDeleteI realized the other day that my politics are exactly like the
conservatives and, at the same time, exactly like the liberals: I want
the government to do what I want it to do, and I want to have lots of
money, excellent health benefits and pay no taxes.
I want my aging parents taken care of and I want my grandkids to have
the best education possible (I sure do love my grandkids) and I don't
want to have to pay for it.
I want clean air and inexpensive, well- made manufactured goods.
I also wish music was as good as it used to be, and if there's anything
out there that brings me pleasure that may be illegal, I want it
legalized.
I also want to eat and drink as much as I want and not worry about my
health and I'd like to weigh 180 pounds again, like I did in high
school.
And I want government out of my life, unless, of course, they can do all of the above for me.
And I don't want to have to pay for it.
from by Bret Littlehales
There you go.
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