Y2K Survivor

What do you want in life?  You know, what do you want to be when you grow up?  It's the question we deal with in life from the age of three or when ever some overachieving fucker decides it's time you map out a life plan.  You know what those smug bastids never ask?  They never ask WHO you want to be!  They never ask what kind of a person do you want to be as an adult.

 

I was in church the other day and some old wrinkled fossil teeters down the aisle at a snails pace.  Since I was in my good clothes and couldn't crawl over the backs of those wooden benches, I had to wait on his slow ass while everybody there greeted him with smiles and warm hand shakes.  Damn near exactly as they had greeted me!  One of the Wal-Mart Greeters they use at the Church to hand out playbills, leaned over and engaged me in conversation after greeting the old turtle.  Evidently he saw we had lots of time to bond since Speedy was zipping between the pews at a lightening pace.

 

"Can you believe him?" the greeter asked.  "He's 95 years old and comes to church every Sunday.  He used to be the manager of the gas refinery.  Good fella!"

 

Nearly a century on this planet and thousands of employees engaged doing hard dangerous work (I know, I've seen Urban Cowboy) and he is summed up with a satisfied smile and the long earned name as a "Good fella."  So as I stood there staring at my watch and wondering if the Minister would flick the lights before starting the Sunday morning show, I absently wondered about the timeline of old Methuselah, as I overtly ignored Mr. "Thank you for shopping Presbyterian."  How many men had he fired?  Had he ever crushed the hopes and dreams of young men not cut out to work refinery jobs?  Did he lose sleep over the 8 year industrial clean up to remove the toxins from the center of our town after the refinery shut down?  Did he cry when he laid off hundreds of employees when the plant was closed?

 

And you know what?  None of it mattered, because everybody in that church knew him.  He was a fixture in their lives as well as a part of the community.  He did his job, he did his best for his family and he did it with an entire community watching.  He was known to those that matter, and to those that matter he was known as a "Good fella."  And THAT is who he is and how he will always be remembered.

 

I couldn't help but share in the pride of having the privilege of knowing - old what's his name - as he advanced down towards his family pew in the center of the church at a glaciers pace.  And because I drank of his koolaide I can't help but think I am now a better person for it. 

 

What do you think?

 

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