I Wish There Were No Nights

It didn’t take long after high school for Billy Joe Klagmire to discover that work of any kind ‘sorta’ gets in a person’s way of living. Even as a child he despised work with a passion and would always digress from the subject whenever it was mentioned. Billy Joe only held one job after his hitch in the military and that was for a very short while. He went straight from detasseling corn to the nearest welfare office. While filling out the necessary paperwork, he listed “sheepherder” as his sole occupation. Since there hadn’t been many calls for shepherds in over seventy years, they never did find a job for lazy ole Bill Klagmire.

Oh well! I myself haven’t really worked since 1984 and I have just about grown accustomed to it. I grew so old on the job that I had a hard time finding my way home. My fellow employees just got tired of driving me back every night, so I retired.

Getting old makes me sad because I haven’t really gotten around to living yet. Lately I’ve been noticing that the younger generations are beginning to snicker and laugh at me. They laugh for reasons unbeknownst to anyone ‘cept themselves. Maybe it’s because they think old-age is amusing.

There are, however, little things that tell me something is dreadfully wrong and that my life is in a regressing mode. My children are beginning to look middle-aged and they always grasp my arm to help me up and down steps without even being asked. Not only that, but my grandkids are always telling me, “You’ll be all-right Grandpa!” Being helped and pampered doesn’t bother me as much as those ‘whipper-snappers’ who think being old is funny. I think I’ll go over to the mall and stroll up and down the corridors just for their excusive entertainment.

My best friends are now telling me that old age may not be all of my problem and that I might have gotten the wrong name at birth. They say if you have the wrong name or got yourself improperly programmed at the factory, that you will be laughed at sometime during your lifetime. I don’t know if I believe all this or not, because I’m not one to jump to conclusions for fear of falling off and getting hurt.

Last Christmas my little granddaughter Megan told me I should go see the Wonderful ‘Lizard’ of Oz, and that he would make me better. However, I just can’t trust this child’s prognosis because she’s one of those little people who hates going to bed at night. She ALWAYS asks for the l-o-n-g stories to be read to her just to delay the agony.

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