The Eighties
by Danny C. Wash
Now that I’m on the porch of the door to the eighties
(not the decade which was the worst, the age I mean).
I must declare the good/bad portion of older old age.
When you move into what I call “eightiesville,” you
become different to all behind you on the walk of life.
To them you are in a different place, a different zip code.
Also thereafter, when you die, no one will say, “Well at least
they didn’t die young,” which is of small comfort.
You can look forward to everyone excusing your clothes.
You can tell the same story again and again and no
one will embarrass you by calling you out on it.
You can say things like, “don’tcha know” or “when
I was a kid” or “those young-uns are going to hell
in a handbasket” or “I can remember when (fill in the blank).”
You can tell people what stuff now, cost in 1960 and
they will just smile and mentally pat you on the head.
You will no longer be upset with someone calling you old.
You’re exempt from lifting anything more than a pound.
You can just sit and stare for as long as you want.
A man can wear black nylon thigh-high socks with shorts
and black dress shoes, just to annoy their adult kids.
In fact, no one cares whether your socks even match.
And, a woman can wear an orange and red dress, anywhere.
No one wants to beat you up when you say something stupid.
Remember, the eighties is not for “fraidies” or sissies
because there are some limitations and bumps on that road.
But as the eighties whiz by, the main caution
is when “they,” and you know who “they” are,
come for your car keys or to take you on the “ride.”
Oh, you know the “ride,” when they come and say,
“Come on Dad (or Mom) lets take a ride and
we have a place we want to show you.” Run, well
perhaps limp, away because you’re going to a place
from which you’re never coming back home, no matter
how many times a day you say, “when can I go home?”
I know, I know, some of us probably did that to our
parents when it was time, but it is still a sad time but
perhaps necessary. Every journey has an end and
sometimes it ends with a whimper or with a bang.
The eighties can be a time you can look back at the trail you
left, all the good things, bad things, the disasters, defeats,
and victories with a feeling of resignation that all that is done
and over and leave it to the past, leave it to those who
come behind. What’s done is done and what was not
done can work itself out however it will or will not.
All joking aside, make every moment one that is precious
and live every day so that your life will have blessed all of us.
