WANTED MAN vs NEEDED. THERE’S A DIFFERENCE?

If you’re waiting for a wanted man to make life better, you’ll be waiting a minute.

This man was a one-float parade around Silverton during my last visit.

You could hear him from blocks away with his booming sound system blasting AC/DC.

When I left, he followed my car out of town, then turned back at the city limits.

He was either a one float parade or a motor escort service.

Either way, I asked myself: Are there town characters everywhere?

Oregon has no shortage of people who show up, play their play, light their light, and move on down the line.

Where do they come from? More than likely they’ve been there all along waiting for their moment.

The first wanted man I knew was Coach Abraham.

He was my wanted man when I looked around for a reason to keep playing sports in high school after an injury prone sophomore football season.

The football team had a lot going for it. Winning games wasn’t part of it at 1-7-1.

The basketball team was better, but both programs felt in disarray.

Then there was the wrestling team with a sixty-five match winning streak and a nationally recognized coach.

In North Bend?

Until I joined the preseason practices I didn’t have a clue.

Since then I see my time in the wrestling room as a foundation for life.

 

Wanted Man Not Always A Person

Not always a person, not always a man, but wanted just the same, like this dog.

 

Wife: Women a certain age need to nurture.

Me: I’ll be a volunteer. Let the nurturing begin. With a sandwich.

Wife: That’s not what I mean.

Me: So, no sandwich?

Wife: We need a dog.

Me: The neighbor’s got a dog. Isn’t that enough?

Wife: It’s been long enough since Daisy.

Me: Only four years. I’m still grieving.

Wife: You’re just not a dog person.

Me: We had Daisy sixteen years. I’m as doggy as anyone.

Wife: Then let’s get a dog. I know someone.

 

We started looking.

 

Wanted man in California, wanted man in Buffalo
Wanted man in Kansas City, wanted man in Ohio
Wanted man in Mississippi, wanted man in old Cheyenne
Wherever you might look tonight you might see this wanted man

 

One thing led to another and we got a dog, but not just any dog.

We got a wanted man girl dog I didn’t know I wanted.

 

Me: How’s the nurturing going?

Dog: Great.

Me: She thinks you like me more than her.

Dog: That’s because you and I fight for fun.

Me: Let’s dance, dog.

 

Wanted Man Found

We found our wanted hound in Lebanon, and she’s a character.

How’s the nurturing part going? We’re all nurtured up. She’s a solid part of the household.

The biggest difference between no dog, and big dog? It’s the love. Maybe it’s the love?

As we all know, baby boomers are love experts.

After watching the Sixties on a television in North Bend I knew what I wanted.

Hippie girls? Check.

After graduating high school in 1973, which is ten out of ten if you do the math right, what kind of girls did I find most attractive?

Hippie girls, but by then I understood the age difference.

After a blind date with a twenty-eight year old with two kids and two divorces when I was eighteen, I knew even more.

What’s changed between 1973 and 2026?

 

 

Didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I
See you cryin’ 
Oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I
See you cryin’ 
Feelin’ all alone without a friend
You know you feel like dyin’ 
Oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I
See you cryin’ 
I want you to want me
I need you to need me
I’d love you to love me
I’m beggin’ you to beg me

 

PS:

Who hasn’t done their share of begging’ and cryin’ and felt like dying’?

 

PSS:

If you haven’t, you’re either in denial, or still a baby.

Who do you want to want you?

Who do you need to need you?

Who would you love to love you?

If it’s no one, plan on begging and crying alone.

That’s what I did after every serious relationship breakup . . . in Junior High.

A girlfriend meant no time for friends, only her, and breaking up meant no one. For a while.

Then, after growing up and learning more about people and how they act, the break up became part of the game plan.

 

Wife: Is that what you’ve been thinking the past forty years married to me?

Me: Let me check . . . we’re not in eighth grade. So, nooooooo.