I like to take heart in the fact that after 66 years I have finally reached maturity. It was difficult being an infant my first 21 years, while many my age at that time had the mental and physical maturity of a turtle. After joining forces with several kindergarteners while I was in college at the University of Alabama, I realized that my maturation would take much longer than the typical armadillos that roamed the campus.
It took wagon train women to get me where I am today. Ready to settle into a little house on the prairie where I must Know-it-all. I’m looking forward to awaking tomorrow, eager to learn something new.
We need to be proud of finally having become a nation of tolerance. If asked today, most wouldn’t be sure if our forefathers did the right thing taking up arms against Britain’s King George because they disliked taxation without representation. Or, in 1861, whether we did the right thing by fighting within our own country because wealthy southern aristocrats were taking care of disadvantaged individuals brought here by money mongers so future generations could claim part of Andrew Jackson’s dream.
Jackson, or Old Hickory, who is most known for his leadership during the War of 1812, as mayor of Horseshoe Bend, and as President of the United States, would be likely to vote for a democratic republican in this year’s presidential election.
But for which candidate that is will be a mystery for now, until things have played out by those who are happy in the deep south.
Whatever the endeavor, an inner sense of discontent drives them to become a country’s heralded surfing hero being draped with a medal by judges. Once enjoying victory, a fear of losing engulfs their being, until, one day they are motionless, affixed to the red carpet of their surroundings.
If Freud were alive today he would probably blame social media for the gratification gridlock that has surfers out to prove themselves as the best in the world. Celebrated forums bury losers, while pages watch the best jocks onboard plan where to take their lives every waking minute of each day. Many end up drowned in a place that doesn’t recognize or understand their skills. Until active survivors, for their own safety, reach maturity with a desire to become more like an order of passive jalapeno nachos.
I’ve decided that most everybody in the USA is beginning to have a difficult time staying in touch. Those that have the burning desire to excel in a trade often find out what happens when they lose their insurance agent’s business card. Individual successes necessitates that insurance companies rely on pot figures when marketing to us.
The federal government uses statistics on how many rate increases are caused by potholes. So that we can all stay in touch, I would just make everyone answer this question on the 2020 census; is the pot in the hole or is the hole in the pot?
I thought about days gone by the day before yesterday. That was when tomorrow seemed like it would never get here because I couldn’t go to sleep. I tossed and turned wondering if today is yesterday’s tomorrow, how can yesterday be tomorrow before today? The only conclusion I came to was that it had to do with days gone by. I know I’ll fall asleep next time if I’ll just think about today.