As we are all aware, we live our lives in our minds, which I suppose is a good thing. However; it dawned on me today, after a friend referred to me as an old geezer, that there was a time when my happy being lived somewhere else...a place where there were no Interstates, where you could not only distinguish between a Plymouth, a Ford, a Chevrolet, and a Cadillac, but you could also proclaim your knowledge as to what year and make each one was, where I could ride my bicycle up and down almost any street, and stop at almost any house, and the lady of the house was home, and would offer me a glass of water or milk, and maybe even a cookie to go with it.



Of course, those days had their dis-advantages for us kids then, because we knew everyone within about a ten block radius, and of course, that meant they also knew us...and where we lived! Which meant that we didn't even consider doing anything we should not do, for we knew it would somehow get back to our parents...and we sure didn't want that to happen.

If we wanted to listen to some music, we had to go home, or to a friend's house, and put a “78”, or a “45” on the record player, and pray like heck that we could hear our favorite singer or music between the scratchings. Sometimes, we would pretend that we could sing and play a musical instrument as well as they did---but every once in awhile, some adult would bring our dreams crashing down by telling us to “Will you please stop all that yelling?”

And who could forget where they were when Ed Sullivan had this young, vibrant “kid” on his show, and who would become, as far as I am concerned, the greatest singer that ever lived...none other than Elvis Presley! It wasn't too long after that when I turned sixteen, and I could drive.

There were “teen towns” in those days, and since I was lucky enough that my mother taught me how to dance, I ended up joining four of them. They all convened on different evenings of the week, and therefore, I could go dancing(and meet lots of those humanoids of the female persuasion) almost every night of the week.

As time went by, two things began happening that made me realize that I was not getting any younger...people began calling me “sir,” and my hair began disappearing. To my regret, I also was not smart enough to purchase a mirror that would lie to me.

Time kept marching on, and like everyone else, I went through trials and tribulations of various types and degrees...and so far, my happy form of DNA is still around being a pain in the _______(you fill in the blank space) to the rest of the world.

Looking back through the misty eyes of my past, for I am now in my Autumn years, I realized that I was no different than most other folks...I just wanted to survive, and find a little happiness each day.

A little older and hopefully a little wiser, I know now that there were several “anchors” that kept me going, that motivated me to constantly strive to improve myself, and thereby become a better individual...those anchors were my family, especially my son, and lots of beautiful music. Yep, I said music!

All those fantastic notes from all those absolutely wonderful inventions called musical instruments, playing in harmony with each other, was somehow always nearby to pierce deep down and throughout my entire essence, and somehow allow me to believe that there was always another time and other possibilities tomorrow.

There is music to make us laugh, to bring tears to our eyes, to scare us, to instill pride in us, to hate, to love, to dance a Cha Cha, A Jitterbug, a Twist, and a myriad of other dances...I love almost everyone of them, but my all time favorite throughout my life has always been a Waltz. Its hard to improve upon having a lovely lady in my arms, and flowing around a floor, or especially under the stars on a desert by ourselves. One has no choice but to think of romance on such a beautiful occasion.

However, I have to admit that for all the other times of my life, this old geezer craves that good old fashioned 1950s Rock and Roll, and Elvis Presley.

© (J) Marshall Wade