Empty nests and a carton of Luckies
Go Deeper.
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I was doing my final run-through of Planet Politics tonight before heading off to bed. My wife retired early -- well, early for me -- and my youngest son -- the high school graduate (did I tell you "with honors?") -- is out with his older brother and before leaving told his mother and I that he'll be home, "around 1.. I'm 18 now."
My wife started the you-sound-like-my-parents-now dissertation on the fact that he still lives in our house and, well, you know the rest if you were ever 18. Finally I said to him, "Pat" -- his name's Pat, you see -- "go have fun, and make good decisions." On the way out the door my wife called out -- as she always does -- "I love you," to which the fading response, barely audible was "you too," which -- for the record -- is the first time my wife recalls hearing what essentially passes for "I love you too," in 18-year-old speak, from this particular 18 year old. "He tells you everyday," I always say to her, "he just doesn't use the three words you want to hear."
Where was I? Oh, yes, so here I sit hoping that the reticent lad survives an evening of $1 movies and God knows what else with his older brother and survives. I mean literally....survives. Honestly, I don't know how birds do it.
Where was I? Oh, yes, as I'm making the final patrol across Planet Politics, I stumble across a Garrison Keillor column on Slate, the citation of which will set some of you to chortling, even though the column had nothing to do with politics, but was instead about how overly protective and serious we are these days. And how we don't do anything anymore just so we can say, "wheeeeeeeeeeee."
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He mentioned that when he gets -- if he gets -- a terminal diagnosis sometime, he's heading to the store to buy Lucky Strikes. He said it a day after my wife informed me that on her 75th birthday, she intends to buy a carton of cigarettes and spend the day smoking. She gave it up when pregnant with my oldest son, more than 20 years ago. Twenty years. How did that all go by so fast?
Where was I? Oh yes, that set me to wondering what I'd do if I found out I only have a month to live. I like politics OK and all, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't spend a second paying attention to it anymore; and not because I wouldn't care about the future, but because, let's face it, nothing really changes except the venom of politics.
We're a few days removed from both party conventions and I can feel it already. A serious pall begins to descend over Planet Politics, and the hair-trigger "what did you mean by that?" mentality of simple conversation has started to appear. This is serious business, as if life itself were at stake. But, if it really were, we probably wouldn't give a rip about it.
We'd probably be out back smoking a carton of Luckies.
