origins vol 5...the making of an old school brother...

a bunch of year's back, tired of the nicknames of my past, i decided to create one of my own. i christened myself the old school brother #1—OSB1 for short. It fit, my sensibilities are a much better fit for a era gone by. It also identified a style of my own, an individuality culled from distinct experiences in an ever changing society that somewhere began to miss the point. i've been dubbed any number of analogies to an old soul—from crotchety old man to budha on the mountain top. i've never shied from this depiction. i like to be thought of this way—hard to approach, yet, a oasis of wisdom. Sure, i'm as lost as any of you are, but the difference is that i freely admit it...

the meaning of life, the philosopher's ultimate quest. Bullshit. This why dudes with PHDs in philosophy end up working produce at DansKey. i've never spent a moment yearning for the meaning of life. Simply put, the meaning life is the search for the meaning of life, the ultimate practical joke. That's not to say there is no meaning, its just to say that there's nan one of us on this satellite that have intellectual fortitude to come up with the slightest idea of what it is. And you know what, to think you could possibly have the understanding is an insult to life. Life just is. It was long before we showed up and will be long after we've shat the bed, so give up the ghost. The best you can hope for is to pick a few nuggets of truth here and there, tuck 'em in your pocket, and make your journey a little bit easier...

my father is 63 today. i gave him a call, it was short and succinct, as it has been a lot lately. i asked him if he was going to join us for a camping trip we have planned for early September, he said it doesn't look good. Slowly, he has settled into his spot. He's involved in his church more than he ever was and is more preoccupied with everyone else's problems to realize that he should be preoccupied with himself. He's five years past his 30 year button with the City, sort of paying the city to keep him on the payroll, with the interest from his dormant pension sitting in the City's coffers until he finally decides to give up the ghost and start taking his share. i along with anyone else in the know can't understand what he's waiting for, a second heart attack?, a gold watch? a proper pat on the back? None of that will change the fact that to me, he will always be the smartest guy in the room, even without the college education. That he is the toughest man in the room even after i have rebuilt my body from scratch—twice. That he is more deserving of a fruitful retirement than most. Yet he waits. Maybe he doesn't know what to do next. Maybe he spent so much time with his head to grindstone, being ground, that he has felt left behind without a clue of how to spend the remainder of his days—after all, he is the original old school brother and the reason i put the #1 suffix on my title...

i guess its normal to have this sort trepidation when heading into one's retirement years. The days are getting shorter and mortality is becoming more apparent. i guess i don't really understand hitting the brakes because my mortality has been tested twice in the span of half of his life, let alone the entirety of my own. i guess he's still searching for meaning. Maybe he's figured it out. If he did, he's not telling. Instead I get 45 second conversations on the phone...

what can you say, dude's old school...

happy birthday, old man...