Month: October 2025

Old Men

I want to be an old man one day. I want to drive a squeaky clean pickup truck to meet my friends for breakfast at Jack’s at 5:30 in the morning. I’ll eat a steak biscuit unless the bologna biscuits are on sale. We’ll sit at the round table and laugh about the good old days when gas was only .89¢ when we started driving. When a stranger walks in we’ll ask if anybody knows him. And if they don’t, we’ll get to know him. We’ll have nicknames for all the little kids because we might not remember their real names. That will endear them to us. After breakfast we will piddle in our gardens, or go horse trade old guitars and guns.

I met a man yesterday who was 98 years old. He drove himself to the Council on Aging. I’m not sure if he came to hear me sing, or if he just came out of habit because old men have routines. But he stayed and talked to me in the atmosphere that lingers after the songs are over but everyone remains quiet, intently listening. He was still sharp in his mind. That’s the kind of old man I want to be.

I met another old man that cycled 100 miles when he turned 90. A spry old sinewy man, tough as woodpecker lips-that is the kind of thing that old men say. I hope to be a fit old man. Not the kind that wears shorts so everyone has to look their old nasty bird legs. There are some things in life a man ought not have to look at.

I want to be an old man that can tell a good story. Can’t nobody tell a story like an old man. And I might start carrying around little candies to hand out at church for children in case my eyebrows scare them.

I just lost one of my favorite old men, Bro. Boney. I wasn’t expecting it, and I’m still not over it. He was one the kind of old men that shook everyone’s hand at the church. He did that with purpose. He had a way of making people feel like they belonged there. He’d been coming to Thanksgiving with my family for the past few years. He’d sing snatches of those old hymns and I’d accompany on the guitar in the corner until our wives would calm us down. One year the power went out, so we couldn’t be ignored. Everyone joined in and sang along. It was a good night.

One year he brought a BB Gun to the church while we cooked a bunch of turkey breasts for Thanksgiving. It was something that you would expect an 8 year old boy to do, but there he was, the oldest man present, plinking away at cans. I just thought that was hilarious. I kept this picture as his contact picture on my phone. I always have the hardest time deleting contacts of friends that have died.

The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness. Proverbs 16:31

Old men are a blessing, otherwise God would not have cursed the house of Eli by denying them old men.

Wherefore the Lord God of Israel saith, I said indeed that thy house, and the house of thy father, should walk before me for ever: but now the Lord saith, Be it far from me; for them that honour me I will honour, and they that despise me shall be lightly esteemed. Behold, the days come, that I will cut off thine arm, and the arm of thy father’s house, that there shall not be an old man in thine house. And thou shalt see an enemy in my habitation, in all the wealth which God shall give Israel: and there shall not be an old man in thine house for ever. And the man of thine, whom I shall not cut off from mine altar, shall be to consume thine eyes, and to grieve thine heart: and all the increase of thine house shall die in the flower of their age. I Samuel 2:30-33

I want to be the kind of old man that young men want to get next to in the prayer room before church. The kind of old man that makes children laugh. That gives good gifts. That speaks the truth in love. That cares. That loves the same woman for decades and raises godly children.

I guess the best way to be the kind of old man you want to be is to be the kind of young man you ought to be.

Is ‘at You Earl?

There was a time when Hardee’s had a marketing campaign for a Monster Burger, and it worked on Dad and me. So we drove down to Childersburg, Alabama to our nearest Hardees to have one. I can remember the booth we were sitting in was near the front which gave a commanding view of the entire restaurant. You could see the counter and the kitchen beyond, as well as the dining room all the way back to the bathroom. As we set there eating our big old cheeseburgers, and just generally enjoying our fine dining experience, the side door opened. A voice from the kitchen called out: “Is ‘at you Earl?”

It was Earl, a slovenly dark-haired young man reporting for duty. He confirmed this with a mumbled reply. Then braced himself as a volley of admonishments was hurled his way. It was a woman’s voice, clearly his manager. She was not berating as I recall, but smooth and comical. It seemed like she had been working on Earl for a while.

Where you been Earl? Tuck your shirt in Earl. Did you wash your hands Earl? Where is your Apron Earl? You didn’t comb your hair Earl? Go to the bathroom and get yourself together. Be somebody Earl.

Earl was having a rough day. Being audience to this scene brought an immense amount of joy to my Dad.

“Poor Earl just ain’t got it together does he?”

He recalled this episode for nearly the rest of his life. “Is ‘at you Earl?” became something that he would say to me from then on.

My Dad wanted us to have the experience of working with the general public. Principally, so we would know how to treat people. And to know how to behave when you have been mistreated. Maybe that manager was the first person that ever took time to try to help Earl.

I always think about Earl when I see a Hardee’s. I think about a high school teenager getting their first experience in the workforce. Maybe for the first time in their life they are having do things that were never taught at home. Like tucking their shirt. And being somebody.

Classical Music

There is a feeling that comes to me in the fall when the light is shining through the window just so, kind of sideways in the morning after all the kids are off to school. There must be a window where I can see the rest of the world, busy about their work. And there must be classical music creating a little bubble of peace.

Classical music to me is not sitting in a stuffy hall in your uncomfortable church clothes watching a bunch of musicians in their uncomfortable church clothes play music that everyone pretends to like. To me classical music is anesthesia for a job that I don’t enjoy very much. Sometimes I listen to classical music and I am in a concert hall, watching musicians play, but most of the time, the music is just the soundtrack to my imagination.

It works without a window too. I used to listen classical music seriously when I had a job cutting grass. It became a great escape for me. I had these radio headphones that allowed the music to take me far away from the tedious and laborious tasks of weed-eating. And when I finally got a job in the air conditioning, I would listen to classical music from the comfort of my desk as I watched the hustle and bustle of traffic just outside my window. That is the feeling that I am trying so hard to describe to you. It is as if I am looking at the rest of the world in a little glass terrarium, the music allows me to be an outside observer.

I was introduced to classical music when Mom bought our first CD player and a few CDs. The one I remember was a collection of classical music favorites. I listened to that album a lot in my bedroom. And if I hear one of those pieces today, like Schubert’s unfinished symphony, I am transported back to my little bedroom with my octagonal window.

Maybe it was because of the record player that listening to music became a ritual for me. I needed help from an adult with the record player. And once the record started, I would be left alone to be tended by the music. I just had to listen to the whole thing, there was no turning back. So I think that sense of commitment carried over to CDs. Anytime I got a new CD, I would sit down and listen to the whole thing front to back without stopping. I still think this is the best way to listen to music.

For all my love for classical music, I have only ever been to one concert. It was when I was a teenager. We went to a beautiful concert hall somewhere in Birmingham to see-and hear-the Alabama Symphony Orchestra play Variations on Haydn. At the beginning of the concert, the conductor gave a speech to the audience. And for some reason, the first chair violin was chatting with his neighbor. The conductor turned around to say something to him out of the microphone. When the conductor turned back to the audience, the first chair violin shook his bow at the conductor. That has always stood out to me. Was there bad blood between these two? Jealousy? Was this simply a joke? Who can know? I remember liking the music though and just staring at the orchestra. I could’ve watched it all night. My Uncle Tony elbowed me to point out a man who had fallen asleep. I guess it would be good music for sleeping.

I have been listening to a lot of classical music lately because the weather is just asking for it. And perhaps maybe because I like to daydream.