In today’s #RandyTales, our hero establishes his old man goals…
As I have started my 46th rotation in this meatsack, I have accepted the fact that I have lived far longer than I had a right to. And now that I am firmly in the middle ages of my life, I am looking hopefully at reaching old age and what kind of old man I want to be… aside from “dirty”… pretty much have that covered already. But when looking forward, it is important to look behind to see who stands out as examples of behavior.
Many years ago, I had a friend named Scott. Some of my Okla-homies remember him. He was a character worthy of his own Tale, but sadly he peaked in his early 20s and became a Redneck stereotype. Thankfully, this isn’t about him. It is about his father.
His father was a travelling preacher, which sounds like a made up profession but I assure you he was. I can’t even recall now what denomination he was, or even that he travelled far in his chosen career path. But I remember he had a hand carved wooden cane that he carried around with him. One day – and again, I’ve blown out most of those ‘detail’ memory centers – we were out at something. And I watched him walk into the room with his cane, and sit down. Every person in the room stopped their conversations and turned their focus to him. He didn’t say anything or make any motion that he was going to anything. Everyone immediately turned to watch him, waiting for his words of wisdom.
As I grow less-than-gracefully older, I have noticed a tendency to have that effect on people – ususally when I start opening my mouth to talk. My buddy and possesor of the second largest penis of any North American land animal, Brandon, has called this “holding court”. Get me behind a bar, or any gathering of people, and I will start holding court – telling stories or just talking about any number of topic. I become possessed by some preacher in the pulpit of degeneracy. Ironic, given that multiple members of my family have been preachers.
In a far less pious goal was a direct friend of mine. Mason Dave was one of the sweetest people you could have met. He was a Las Vegas Burner, a 30-something degree Mason, and always had a smile for everyone he met. He used to make these pendants to gift out at Burning Man that said “Las Vegas Burner”. He gave me one many years ago and I told him that – since I hadn’t actually gone to Burning Man yet – that I would wear it when I did.
He looked at me and said “That’s bullshit. You are as much of – if not moreso – a Burner than people I have known that have been going for years.” I became a Burner not when I would step foot on the Black Rock Desert two years later, but when this amazing man told me I was. I have always used that when interacting with new people coming into this community – praising them for bringing their amazing energy into this dysfunctional family of ours.
Dave also ran a sex dungeon camp. I mean – it’s all about the layers.
One source of goals is my own family. I was blessed to know two of my grandfathers and two of my great-grandfathers. I could write a lot about those men – raised in hard times to be hard “manly” men, full of demons and regrets. But I knew them later in life, when they had soften in old age. They may not have fully accepted all that their descendant has become in his journey, but they would admire how I persevered my own hard times without growing hard.
I accept growing old, but I refuse to grow old gracefully. I made it this far, and I get to define how I go forward. You will see me wearing fishnets and slutty skirts far past the time I should. One day I will be the oldest person sitting in the cuddle puddle surrounded by those who are old enough to be my grandchildren. Maybe one day the brown will fade to gray that will give way to white and my transformation into Santa will be complete.
And that is something to look forward to.