Old Men
and their empty lives.
I remember one time when I had some intense studying to do for school,
that I went down to the Central Point Library to try and do it. I was
sitting at the table, with my binder open, my books out, and there were
these two old men sitting at the next table over who apparantly had
never heard the age-old rule that you're supposed to be quiet in a
library. There they were, loudly discussing last nights performance of
"Death of a Salesman," in Ashland, when one of these old men told the
other, "I read something in a book the other night that I really found
interesting. The author used the phrase, 'We'd the Civil War.'"
"We'd the Civil War." He went on to explain how neat he thought that was, and that was actually grammatically correct, short for "We had the civil war."
Right then and there, I closed my eyes, folded my hands, bowed my head, and said a little prayer. "Dear God, I know I've been slacking off on my communication with you lately, but, should I not be dead of a heart attack by the time I'm a decrepid, feeble old man, I pray that you give me more interesting things in my life, more stimulating things to bring my heart a spark of joy, than some author's amazing use of an apostrophe."
I mean, my God, this literary virtuoso the old man spoke of had managed to figure out contractions. God forbid this old man ever watch an epdisode of "School House Rock." The amazing things they're doing with grammar these days just might be too much for him. I can just see the old codger, sittin' in his recliner, flippin' through the channels, and coming across "Conjunction Junction," watching in amazement, his excitement building and bubbling over, eventually becoming too much for him as he slumps to the floor, dead of a heart attack.
You know, on second thought, maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps I should send him a few episodes of "School House Rock" on tape. It'd definitely make the library quieter.
"We'd the Civil War." He went on to explain how neat he thought that was, and that was actually grammatically correct, short for "We had the civil war."
Right then and there, I closed my eyes, folded my hands, bowed my head, and said a little prayer. "Dear God, I know I've been slacking off on my communication with you lately, but, should I not be dead of a heart attack by the time I'm a decrepid, feeble old man, I pray that you give me more interesting things in my life, more stimulating things to bring my heart a spark of joy, than some author's amazing use of an apostrophe."
I mean, my God, this literary virtuoso the old man spoke of had managed to figure out contractions. God forbid this old man ever watch an epdisode of "School House Rock." The amazing things they're doing with grammar these days just might be too much for him. I can just see the old codger, sittin' in his recliner, flippin' through the channels, and coming across "Conjunction Junction," watching in amazement, his excitement building and bubbling over, eventually becoming too much for him as he slumps to the floor, dead of a heart attack.
You know, on second thought, maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps I should send him a few episodes of "School House Rock" on tape. It'd definitely make the library quieter.