David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Staying Young

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Staying Young: Staying Young As an attempt to stay young, I emulate folks in their teens and twenties. The radio bass blares music in my truck so...

Staying Young

Staying Young

As an attempt to stay young, I emulate folks in their teens and twenties. The radio bass blares music in my truck so loud that my umbrella undulates in the gun rack behind my head. I have a bobble-head of Mombo the clown attached to my dashboard. He wiggles and jiggles to the blasting tunes each day when we ride the highways and byways of Dubuque County.

“Trixie” gets upset with me playing the radio that loud. I tell her I’m trying to be young again. She gives me a half-wave and struts away shaking her head. One thing I do know is that kids of today don’t have a clue about Mombo, the clown. Why, he and Dr. Max were just about the most popular kids’ television show to ever come out of WMT T.V. Channel 2, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa in the 1960s. All of us watched them late in the afternoon.

Ya’ see, folks, I believe we can learn from both our past and our present. That’s why I like to combine the two parts of my life. If ya’ can’t look over your shoulder and learn from the past, you either have arthritis in your neck or narrowness in your mind.

So anyway, the other day I thought I'd dress the way some of the young people do. I saw a fella about eighteen years old walking down Asbury Road. He must have been a Boy Scout when he was younger, because he seemed to follow the motto of "Be Prepared." He walked the street with his pants seven inches lower than where they should have been. That’s right – seven inches at least. I noticed his striped boxers proudly displayed for all to see. I figured he was getting prepared for an attack of diarrhea and wouldn't have to work so hard once he made it to the bathroom in time – if, well you know what I mean. Yep, he was prepared. I nodded an understanding glance at him through the truck windshield. He ignored me.

Whenever I eat "Trixie's" homemade chili, the peristalsis percolation goes into high gear. That, folks, is a polite way of saying my stomach rolls and rumbles and I know a case of the “green apple two-step” is about to occur.

So I saw right away the value of wearing my pants low and showing everyone my new “whitey-tighties” Fruit of the Loom brief underpants. I was ready for action.

I drove into the lot at Panera’s Coffee Shop over there on JFK Road. Jiggling Mombo was just a wavin’ and a wigglin’ from his perch on the dashboard to all who stared at me. I guess I had the bass a little loud on the radio. But, that’s how young folks listen to music, and as I said, I want to be hip. And besides, I’m already deaf, so what do I care. I must say, Frank Sinatra singing New York, New York at 5,000 decibels is quite enjoyable. For the first time in decades I heard every word.

“Trixie” was already inside waiting for me. Being an old geezer, I like the free re-fills of coffee at Panera’s. It’s kind of fun to order a small cup of coffee and drink a whole pot of java for very little money. We old folks are always looking for bargains. That’s why we go to supper at 3 P.M. to get the early bird special.

Now back to my story. I stood next to my truck there in the parking lot. I pulled, twisted and pried my pants down to my upper thighs. I wanted everyone to see my undies so I tucked my checkered shirt into my underpants. It was quite the fashion statement with my checkered shirt separated from my striped pants by my bulging underwear. The only down side to the new look was nobody could see my black socks that I wore with my sandals. Why, even my sandals were covered from the legs of my pants. Those pants drug over the blacktop with every step I took towards the front door. Boy, “Trixie” was going to be real mad at me for getting my pant legs dirty. But ya know what? I didn’t care I felt young again.

Then I remembered one final touch. I held my ear to keep my hearing aid in place while I removed my cap. I had that Ping Golf cap for years. There was no logic to my next move, but it was fitting with my goal of youthful imitation. I turned my cap backwards. In my youth, caps were worn backwards only by catchers on the baseball team. I guess maybe there are lots of young catchers in America today.

My pants announced my arrival along the walkway. The scraping of the fabric against the cement sounded like number 220 sandpaper. My shuffle was replaced with a swagger. In reality, I was trying to keep my balance, what with my pants half down and all.

Standing with her hands on her hips, lips pursed and eyebrows frowned “Trixie” glared out the window. My grin must have shown all the patrons inside my new dentures I received last week. I think the fifteen people liked my new teeth because they couldn’t take their eyes off me. Why, I was proud as a peacock. I was struttin’,  jivin’ and wigglin’ my little butt right to the front door.

The sound of the sirens and the pressure from the pieces of pebbles against my head slowly brought me to a confused state. It was probably the blood thinners that made it difficult for the paramedics to stop the flow of blood from my noggin’ onto my favorite cap next to me on the sidewalk. Another paramedic was tending to my wounded right knee. It took him no effort to get my pants off. I smiled and thought of that Scout motto of “Be Prepared.” I figured it would be for an emergency case of diarrhea. Little did I realize my pants half down would be of help to medical personnel.

“Trixie” was standing over me talking with another member of the ambulance crew. “Well, he raised his head up high and gave a big wave to me through the window. He was already walking a little odd. I wondered if he was drunk or something. I’d heard him coming a mile away with that darn truck radio blaring. I’m not sure if he got dizzy again from looking up or if he just tripped on his pants. Anyway, he stumbled, fell down and went out like a light.”

After many more minutes of medical care and eleven Band-Aids, I was good to go. I refused hospitalization. “Trixie” and I agreed to leave the truck and return later. She would drive us both home.

She clutched my arm to prevent another fall as we walked toward her car. “OK, let’s go home and I’ll make you a big bowl of chili.”

I pulled my pants down seven inches.

The next day I wasn’t feeling so young. Nope, just the opposite. I decided to see my doctor up there at Medical Associates. I no longer wore my baggy pants and my cap backwards. I decided wear my regular casual clothes. My wide brimmed straw hat was recommended by my doctor to prevent sunburn on my baldhead. The bibbed overalls were great for doing yard work or even woodworking out in my shop.

Three phone lines were blinking and the doctor’s receptionist told the fourth caller she had to place him or her on hold as well. Oh, she was not having a good day. “Yes, what do you want?”

“I’m here to see the doc. I had a fall yesterday and want to get checked out.”

“What insurance do you have?”

“It’s all in my record. I have Medicare and have been on it for five years now.”

She was not impressed. “Well, I need to make a copy of your card.”

I struggled to reach my arm behind my back in order to retrieve my wallet. “Nuts, I left my wallet at home. Everything is still the same.”

The little lady was getting exasperated. She reached over and disconnected all four phone lines and frowned up at me. “Now how do I know you are on Medicare? You look too young to be on it.”

I had no other choice. I unzipped my overalls down to my belly button and spread my bibs wide open to expose my chest. “Do you see all these grey hairs? Would anyone young look like this,” I snapped.

It was about two hours later when I was sitting at the kitchen table and “Trixie” came in. She asked how my appointment at the doctor’s office went. I told her the entire story and how I finally got in to see the doctor and how that young girl finally agreed to accept my Medicare.

“Trixie” walked over to me at the table and said, “Hmm, too bad you didn’t unzip a little further. You would have been approved for workers’ compensation and disability too. Here, have some left-over chili.”