LOOKING BACK TO SEE IF YOU WERE LOOKING

I was looking back recently after hearing how great things used to be.

Baby boomers had it so easy you could buy a house and two cars and a boat and send three kids to college on a part-time paper route for a weekly publication.

As a result the entire generation grew lazy and complacent:

• feeling so satisfied with your own abilities or situation that you feel you do not need to try any harder:

Is it true?

Add in the lottery held for the Vietnam War draft, twenty year old guys who looked forty, and parents disappointed that kids didn’t want to follow orders with all of the sex, drugs, and rock and roll parties that started in the Summer Of Love and never ended. 

No wonder everyone was turning on, tuning in, and dropping out.

None of it had anything to do from me when I graduated from high school in ’73.

But as time rolled along the space between 1969 and 1973 grew tighter and tighter, like it was the next day.

Back then I knew I was turning into a small college athlete and tuning into the academics before dropping out and joining the Army.

What did I know?

 

Running Like Forrest Gump

After failing to be crowned Master Of The Known Universe in my twenties I started running.

I ran the Franklin Parkway in Philadelphia and up the steps to the Museum of Art before Rocky made them famous.

I ran the loop around the reservoir in New York’s Central Park.

Ran the Cascade Run-Off and the Seaside Marathon.

I finished with Hood To Coast.

A few years later I got a tune-up.

 

 

Since then I’ve continued stepping out and stepping up.

 

 

Here I am leaving the Pioneer Courthouse in downtown Portland Oregon after appealing the early ruling on who is Master Of The Known Universe.

Still not me.

I look a little stressed because I had to claw my way through a city full of hipsters and hustlers, pimps and potholes, to just cross the street.

Where’s the National Guard?

 

A Two Way Street Looking Back

If you make a mess you clean it up.

That’s the first instinct.

You clean it up because it’s a mess you made and you feel stupid and no one else needs to know.

Unloading a dishwasher and drop a handful of plates? Different story.

If you’re barefoot you can’t move without stepping on shards of glass or ceramics.

You call for help, and when they get there you tell them a cock-and-bull story about how the shit hit the fan.

Needless to say it wasn’t you and it’s not your fault, but you’re glad to help.

The second instinct after making a mess way beyond any chance of clean up?

Run away. Run away.

Some things you can’t run away from, so you deal with it, or ignore it.

Looking back, it seems odd that one of the most famous sports figures of his era smokes Camel cigarettes.

Most of the big smokers knew they needed a change-up once their throat hurt bad enough.

 

If Camels weren’t smooth and rich tasting enough with smoke delivered to your mouth and tongue and neck targets, if your constant hack turns peoples’ heads, if you stink a little too much of stale tobacco lingering on your clothes, make one more change.

Dedicated smokers know all about the joy of Salems and a breath of clean, cool, minty air.

Don’t strike out on flavor.

Some things you can’t run away from, so you deal with it, or ignore it?

Says who?

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