“. . . Becoming an imaginary Everyman . . .” (John Koethe)

A Studebaker with back-up camera?

A Studebaker with back-up camera?

Yesterday driving home I understood why I want to get rid of my car. That will necessitate moving to the Lone Star Gas Lofts on St. Paul Street between Wood and Jackson in downtown Dallas. Or some such place. Downtown is the operative word.

Getting rid of my car is top priority. I could do it today and survive, but it would be more complicated than I want it to be. I’m a four-acre parking lot away from the DART train station, but the bus service around here is arcane at best. Maple Avenue, Inwood Avenue, Cedar Springs—which buses go where, and when?

My desire to be rid of my car is simple. Yesterday when I pulled out of my parking space after tutoring, a little blue light came on under the speedometer. I had no idea what it meant, and thought perhaps I was in trouble. It went off shortly, and I decided it meant that 35 degrees was as unpleasant for the car as it was for me.

Cars—even my simple little not-quite-two-year-old Honda—are too complicated these days. What are these electronic gadgets? Like the back-up camera on the car a friend just leased. I know it’s painful to twist this old spine around and look out the rear window, but really. Sheesh! If you can’t do that, should you be driving?

I can’t figure out how to get my “smart TV” hooked up to my Wi-Fi, and it’s stationary. How can I possibly cope with electronic gizmos attached to a 2597-pound body-in-motion?

Home, Sweet Home, in downtown Dallas

Home, Sweet Home, in downtown Dallas

Don’t give me the Newspeak Party Line. I know these things make life easier. If my car had a back-up camera, it would also have a “blind-spot” detector, and would stop on a dime if it sensed a bumbling pedestrian stepping out in front of it. I know these things are doubleplusgood, and that I’m engaging in oldthink verging on crimethink, but I can’t cope.

Really. If you can’t drive the car, what are you doing driving a car?

Over 50% of the cars on Dallas streets are SUVs of some variety—or even larger—and it is not safe, even with danger sensors, to drive a real car on Dallas streets.

So you youngsters go right ahead driving your electronic toys, but count me out. The sooner I figure out how to live without a car, the better. And, by the way, I’d rather spend the insurance money on travel to Brazil than on a car. To say nothing of gasoline.

When we look at the image of our own future provided by the old we do not believe it; an absurd inner voice whispers that will never happen to us . . . When that happens, it will no longer be ourselves that it happens to. We must stop cheating. The whole of our life is in question in the future that is waiting for us. If we do not know what we are going to be, we cannot know what we are. Let us recognize ourselves in this old man or this old woman. It must be done if we are to take upon ourselves the entirety of our human state. (Simone de Beauvoir)

If we do not know what we are going to be, we cannot know who we are.

Try to explain that to a 20-year-old basketball star.

The fact is, I have tried. Just yesterday. And he understood. He understood better than most people ten years younger than I am understand. Many of them are pretending to be his age. Of course he has plenty of good examples of people who do understand. For one, his coach who is 74 years old.

I can hear it now, all of your protests that a person in his 70th year is not “old.” You are wrong. A person in his 70th year IS old.

The days of our life are seventy years,
or perhaps eighty, if we are strong;
even then their span is only toil and trouble;
they are soon gone, and we fly away. (Psalm 90:10, NRSV)

What’s wrong with admitting you’re “old?” I never knew my grandfather, Archie James Knight, when he wasn’t old. My dad was 30 and he was 60 when I was born (1945). Granddad was 92 and I was 32 when he died (1977). Longevity runs in our family (Dad lived to 97). But neither Granddad nor Dad ever pretended to be younger than they were. And I never saw either of them living in any way other than fully.

Age is not “only in your mind.” Age is in your body. When I was 30, I had a fairly good example of what I might be when I was 60 and what I might be if I reach 90. I remember my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary party when Granddad was 78 and Grandmother was 68. It was a celebration of longevity. Not a party for kids.

My grandfather drove a Studebaker pickup (he was a contractor, built and remodeled homes). It had no radio or turn signals or back-up camera. I don’t know what Granddad thought of cars with radios and turn signals. But I do know he had no problem being the patriarch of our family. He had no problem with acting his age. He had no problem caring for his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, without meddling in our lives. He had dignity and integrity. And wisdom and generosity.

My purpose in writing today was not to praise my grandfather. It was simply to remind myself that I know what I am today partly because I have some sense of what I will be. And that includes the example of an old man who always knew who he was and didn’t need Comcast or Facebook or Blogspot or any other foolishness to explain it to him.

By the way, I don’t think John Koethe’s poem is sad or depressing. It simply says what is.

“Fear of the Future,” by John Koethe (b.1945)
In the end one simply withdraws
From others and time, one’s own time,
Becoming an imaginary Everyman
Inhabiting a few rooms, personifying
The urge to tend one’s garden,
A character of no strong attachments
Who made nothing happen, and to whom
Nothing ever actually happened—a fictitious
Man whose life was over from the start,
Like a diary or a daybook whose poems
And stories told the same story over
And over again, or no story. The pictures
And paintings hang crooked on the walls,
The limbs beneath the sheets are frail and cold
And morning is an exercise in memory
Of a long failure, and of the years
Mirrored in the face of the immaculate
Child who can’t believe he’s old.

back up
If you can’t drive, why are you driving?

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