Old Codgerhood

After fasting for twelve hours, I gave some blood at Quest Diagnostics. On the way home I stopped at Hardees for a bite of breakfast. The drive through was a long line of folks who eat breakfast while driving to work, so I went in. I ordered a sausage-egg burrito with decalf and sat down in a plastic booth designed for 15-minute stays. I perused the room and noted It was a hangout for old codgers.   

Google defines old codger as “an eccentric but amusing old man.” Not all old codgers look alike, but there is a sameness; you know one when you see one. For many years I have worn the title of “old” since the day I lost an argument with my teenage daughter who said, “Yeah, but Dad you’re old.” But I’ve never considered myself an old codger, until sitting there, it dawned on me, “Hey, I look like these guys; I’m one of them, my brothers, kindred spirits. I’ve arrived at old codgerhood. 

The same daughter once complained about getting stuck behind old guys wearing hats in her commute to work in Chicago. I explained to her: “The only reason we are out there at that hour is we’re on our way to Quest Diagnostics, or a root canal, or a hip replacement.  So, when you get caught behind us in traffic and put pedal to metal to pass, please don’t honk, but give us a friendly wave and compassionate smile. And once in a while skip the drive-through at your favorite fast-food joint. Go in, sit down, and watch old codgers while you eat. You may find us to be quite amusing.