Buy Little Timmy A Hotrod

 Part 22 of 31

They Found Another Body

I’m civic-minded enough to say it and believe it, It’s in all of our interests that we somehow reduce juvenile delinquency. (The other juvenile thing we’re bitterly opposed to is juvenile diabetes. It’s well and good to oppose diseases, I suppose.) But it’s mainly well and good to oppose the disruptions to families and civic life that comes from kids stealing and whatnot, racing cars, setting fires to schools and places of worship, and whatever else they do.

It’s been a while since I was a juvenile but I know the temptations they have to cause trouble. Making trouble for others and themselves. The way they tried to tamp down those activities when I was young was with youth hangouts. Go there and they have a couple pinball machines and jukebox. You’re watching some guys play the pinball machine, and you put a quarter on it and wait your turn. I remember one time a guy with one arm was playing pinball and he got pissed off about tilting it and smashed his one hand through the glass. A good way to lose the other arm, but he came out of it OK.

Did I ever get in trouble as a juvenile? Not really. But those were good days. The only video cameras in existence were test models that TV stations had, each costing thousands of dollars. There was exactly ZERO video cameras in general circulation. So if you did something horrible, it was their word against yours. Naturally if the police swooped into the building from the skylight on a rope and caught you red-handed you had to answer for it. But they were usually at the cafe or sitting in the parking lot flirting with the girls, leaving the town wide open for rampant delinquency.

I have some pointers for juvenile delinquents. If you’re going to be a hardened badass, it still pays to have plausible deniability. It'll go better for you if you are kind, thoughtful, and clearheaded. Avoid drugs, drinking, and staying out late. If you want the perfect cover, don’t go with girls that eat crackers in bed. Why? Because if they’re dumb enough to do that they’ll also be careless in many other ways. As soon as the police put the clamps on them, they’ll have the scoop on you. So your cover's blown, thanks to one squealing stupid so-and-so and her crackers.

Juvenile delinquents have something else they’re prone to. Death. They get the sense that — being young and completely stupid — they’re immortal, “Nothing can touch me.” So they’re doing stuff like racing their cars toward one another and seeing who'll be the first to swerve. Not a great idea. The only reason I'm here today is because we couldn't afford a good car. And I'm grateful for my continued poverty, because it's allowed me to live a long pointless life. But survival is its own reward, I've heard.

The only payoff I can think of for dying early is how beautiful it'd be to have the gang gathered over your grave, smoking cigarettes and thinking about you, then tossing the butts over you. And accidentally melting the plastic flowers. But the huge downside is you're out of sight, out of mind, forgotten, all because you didn’t swerve. Still, statistically, some folks are going to die. It'd mean there was a terrible conspiracy if they didn't.

The Bearded Boy

A picture I showed him for inspiration

I'm only going to sketch this out in unspecific terms, since it's based on an actual bearded boy I know. His beard is nothing like what it's going to be. If I'm unspecific, that will provide cover for him, so teachers, school administrators, and even his parents won't suspect what's going on.

I was talking to him a couple of days ago about his beard. He's young, around 15½, and I'm old, around 60½, so my influence, the wisdom of my years, might really sway his behavior. He seemed excited about the prospects of what is to come. I said something to him about his beard, and right away I could tell he was preparing to defend himself against criticism. But I didn't criticize. I said it's cool and encouraged him -- gave him a great idea -- that he needs to really grow it out.

Keeping this unspecific, I told him he needs it down to here. Then cut off his mustache and just have that menacing look of a guy with a beard and no mustache. Carry a small pitchfork, like the kind they put in cupcakes, and get a TV shirt that says "Amish and Angry." His eyes lit up, he was happy with this cool identity dream. He indicated, yes, this is what he would do! So I was happy for that. What can go wrong?

Now I'm thinking way ahead. Let's say he graduates when he's 18. That means three years from now, meaning his 20th high school reunion will be 2036. By then his old rebellious years are gone, he's mellowed and clean-shaven. He walks in and everyone goes, "You know what I remember about you?" They reach up to their chin and remember the beard. "You were the first full length bearded boy in school. That was the year they made up all new rules against beards: 'No facial hair beyond a day-old 5 o'clock stubble.'"

Indeed, that was the year they made up the new rule. Except he was exempt. They had to grandfather it in, leaving existing beards alone. So he let it grow. Were he to even so much as trim it a bit, he'd break the grandfather agreement and would be unable to regrow it any longer. Since everything grows, even imperceptibly, he'd be a fool to trim it. They'd have him and he'd have to shave it off.

The 30th reunion rolls around and it's the same recollection: "You know what I remember about you?" He's anticipated it and runs his hand over his clean-shaven chin. "The beard?" "Yeah!" the former classmate says, "It was down to your knees!" "Well, it wasn't quite that long, just to here," indicating as low as where the neck ends and the chest begins.

40th, 50th, 60th class reunions. The 40th and 50th are the same. But the 60th is different. Ever been to a 60th class reunion? I haven't, but I've known a few people who have. It's usually you and the other survivor. In this case, looking way ahead, we've got our former bearded boy, still clean-shaven, and one remaining classmate, who has a touch of dementia and so fails to mention the old beard of those glory years. The old boy's OK with the omission, since he barely remembers it either.

As You Are Now, I Once Was

"As you are now, I once was. As I am now, you also shall be."

Forever, this is one of the greatest sentiments I've ever heard!

Back when old folks died in their late 40s, this great sentiment was reserved for gravestones. But now, when you can easily live into your 70s, or even exceed 80, we're hearing it a lot more. I hope you don't think it's too amazing, but even I've been known to mutter it, and I haven't yet turned 60!

Just the other day, I think it was, there was some young scamp giving me the eye as youth is prone to do in the dessicated face of age, as if to say, "I'm cool and you're an old codger. I'm still in the first flower of youth, able to frolic through the streets with long hair, hip clothes, and buff legs. And I've even got some of the cooler eyeglass frames that look like crap on anyone over 29. Look at me, I'm able to turn heads, make entire groups of girls giggle, and name my fee, were they to put me out to stud. I'm pretty! I'm poetic! I can dazzle with the best of 'em! If I'm sitting on a rock playing with a weed, I'm a god. If I'm lounging on a bench outside the bar reading a paperback, I'm a genius lost in thought. If I brush my hand against the ragged whiskers of my chin, I'm the image of beauty. I might just stay up all night! I certainly could! I could stay up all night and laugh about whatever, the universe! And I'm into vintage vinyl!"

Of course I'm looking at him somewhat askance. Vintage vinyl, huh? I bought those new. Honestly, I'm not begrudging him his imagined supremacy. If that's the way he wants to think, I know exactly how it goes. Because that's the first part of the epitaph, "As you are now, I once was." Other guys like me -- dumber guys -- probably are bitter. But what's there to be bitter about? We knew we were going to lose it. Your skin starts to sag and wrinkle up, but you're still obviously you. Your teeth fall out and you're depressed, but look on the bright side, you've still got a tongue that's pink. For every bad thing, there's something good. You sleep more, but what's there to stay awake for? Your hair looks like a mangy dog, but the bald spots aren't that bad, as long as you keep your cap on.

I might be quite a bit better at this than others of my years, to tell the truth. Because I was with my grandparents a long time, so I saw right up close what it means to deteriorate. I should say, however, that old folks were different back then. They actually were keeping the epitaph for their grave. And they had next to no bitterness, because there never were cool. This goes back before teenagers as a dominant market force and 20-somethings as the ideal person. In fact, back then, it was just the opposite. They respected folks older than themselves who'd somehow managed to survive, and as for kids, they thought they were morons. So the epitaph was more of a cautionary thing about life and death in general than the bitterness of age ranting against the blitheness of youth.

Yes, I'm definitely convinced. Everyone else is bitterer than me. I'm barely bitter at all. Really, I mean if these guys I see, like the young scamp above, thinks he's hot stuff and in his eyes I'm an animated corpse, that's his trip. I wouldn't expect him to understand fully the sentiment -- given his lack of years and sense -- "As you are, I once was."

My picture, though, has the young woman, her back cut down to there, being observed by the older gal, whose bun might be too tight. "Look at her, lost in his arms, probably doesn't even know what an emergency dime is! Her precious back is cut so low! Honey, just drop the skintight rag and be done with it! Of course she'll be nude soon enough, and keeping Lothario entertained all night long! With no one to answer to!" So much for women.

OK, then the other side of the coin is, "As I am now, you also shall be." Ah, yes, our revenge! We shall have our revenge, if only we're able to live long enough to see it. And leaving out that we'll be even more wasted, while the once young scamp will still be relatively young. Be that as it may, if he's out with his long hair, etc., and it all looks like crap, that's good revenge. Or she with her low-cut back, "Cover it up, Grandma, your skin's leather!" She's been surpassed by the next generation and is now the butt of bitter remarks. Teaching her a lesson or two: 1) She should've avoided tanning booths; and, 2) Hold on to 16 as long as you can.

Remember, you young rascals, the Grim Reaper is coming for you, too. And I'm loving it! So enjoy it while you can, because before long you too will be a miserable shell of your former self. Before you know it! LOL, I offer you knowing laughter, because I know exactly how you're going to feel, like crap. LOL!

---------------------
Related post: "Enjoy Your Youth -- It's About Over"