Saturday, January 8, 2011

The Oldest Generation

I went to a funeral today. A good friend of mine, Doug, buried his father. His name was Paul. Paul battled cancer for four years before it finally won. He reminded me in many ways of my own dad. They battled the same kind of cancer and they both never met a stranger. It would take my dad an hour and a half to walk his dog around the block because he would always stop and strike up a conversation with a stranger. Or two.

Paul was the same way. Although I didn’t know him that long or that well, it was easy to see that there were three things he loved: Racing, beer and people. When we went to a Nascar race, Paul would disappear for hours at a time. He’d eventually return and tell us about the people he just met and it would sound like he was talking about a long-lost friends.

I didn’t inherit that gene. Sometimes I wish I had.

During the homily, the priest kept reminding us that Paul was with God now, and I must plead guilty to missing part of the Mass because I was daydreaming about what that initial meeting must have been like.

God: Welcome to heaven, Paul.

Paul: Thanks for letting me in.

God: I didn’t let you in, Paul. You let yourself in. Your faith was the key. Plus, you did well. Good family. Honest, hard-working life. This is your reward. Make yourself at home—after all, this is your new home. Any questions?

Paul: Just a couple. Where’s the beer?

God: We keep a cooler on Cloud 9.

Paul: And what time’s the race start?

God: The race?

Paul: Sure. With all the great drivers who’ve died over the years, there must be a race up here somewhere. You know. Mark Donahue, Alan Kulwicki, Dale Earnhardt.

God: Earnhardt?

There in the casket Paul had two things with him: a picture of his dog and his Greg Biffle hat. My dad wanted to wear his Ohio State shirt. We are what we wear, I suppose, but that’s another thought for another time.

Mostly what’s been haunting me since the funeral—and since my own dad’s death a year and a half ago, really—is that my friend Doug and I now share another thing in common: we are now the oldest generation. That’s one of the funny things about life: it keeps turning over. Kind of like a Slinky on an escalator. The old pass on and the young become the old. Generation after generation.

For the most part, we have 40, 50, maybe 60 years if we’re lucky in which we have an older, more experienced voice of wisdom and reason we can turn to for help or advice. Whether we do or not is a separate matter. There are family dynamics that come into play. There’s the fierce belief in independence that dominates society today. There are logistical issues and societal issues. But if nothing else, there’s at least a sense of security in knowing there’s someone there. Someone older.

I’m not sure I’m ready to be the oldest generation. To be the one who people look to for advice and wisdom. I don’t really feel that old, and I’m not really sure I’m qualified. But that’s another funny thing about life: it doesn’t care. It seems to me that you are who life says you are, and when it says you are. Ready or not.

1 comment:

  1. First, I am sorry for your loss. The loss today. The loss of your beloved Dad, now cheering Ohio State from "over-the-rainbow." Lucky him. And Norma, I mourn the loss of "S'norm" as I called her. Work everyday. Love everyday. Be thankful everyday. Pray everyday. Gone to soon. Words of wisdom in their pockets. When my Mum died, I remember saying, "but I am not a daughter anymore." I would be introduced and remembered, "oh you are Doris's daughter!!" Well, yes I am. Through and through. Now raising two young daughters who only know my Mum and Dad through pictures..."Gosh mummy, they are old. Were they sick? I'd like to go to heaven to talk to your mummy and bring her back for a day. She seemed so nice." She was.

    So I agree, we are what we are every day, made better, ready or not by the love our partents sprinkled on us along the way.

    And I beg to differ, I think you rarely meet a stranger and you introduce your readers to the best of them.

    Good piece. I will be sharing it.

    V

    ReplyDelete