Old Baggage

There it is all ragged and torn. It’s patched and held together with frayed rope and the remnant of an old leather belt. I’m afraid to look at what’s inside ’cause I know there is at least a little weed, you know, the stuff we bought by the lid back in the sixties. (I really liked the 60's) My mouser's catnip for people. Wrapped in the same package, but settled to the bottom, are a few of the brain cells I burnt back then. Sometimes I sure wish I had them back. Every time I see that commercial that says, "This is your brain on drugs," I wonder if that is why I like scrambled eggs.

Also, you’ll find a pair of bell bottoms. God I hated disco. And, in there somewhere are pictures of at least two wives, somehow it seems like more. Mom said that she must have made Afghans for at least a quarter of Dallas. I guess I’ve been around. Looking back, it was fun, but I’m ready to settle.

Oh, look what I found. A peace symbol pinned to a sailor suit. I guess there is more than one pair of bell bottoms in there.

Off in the corner behind the assortment of roach clips, I see my leathers. The ones I wore racing my 250 Yamaha Enduro. The same ones that were cut off of me several times when I crushed my knees. It’s amazing I survived those years, if I had known that my body was going to last this long, I would have taken better care of it when it was young.

Aha, look over here. Now these are the pictures of my children. This young man standing about six feet tall and about two hundred pounds, is my son. No one knows he has dyslexia and wanted to graduate with his class. It was a challenge, he worked very hard and did graduate main stream. And this is my daughter, she worries me because she is a lot like me, but looks so much like her deceased mother. No father wants his daughter to be like him, I wonder why?

In this empty spot over here is my college degree. Oh, you mean you don’t see it? Well, Viet Nam sort of got in the way of that, but very few people know. Some people even mistake me for a college professor. We shan’t tell, shall we?

Now over here is a prized possession, it’s a picture of a lady that has become very dear to me. In a short period of time she has become a refuge and the renewal of my youth. I hope she will overlook all of my faults. It seems the older I get the luckier I get. She says that I’m a good catch, but she doesn’t know how lucky I am to have her. I won’t tell if you won’t.

Old baggage is bulky and hard to handle. It gets in the way and sometimes has a personality of its own. But it is what we are, and what we will be. We are our old baggage.