By Michael Hollingshead
I love old people. By old, I mean the white-haired men who stand up and yell things at the refs at basketball games. These men are my heroes. To become one of them is my dream.
I am an avid supporter of the old adage of respecting your elders. In fact, I have so much respect for those in their golden years that I make it a point to spend quality time with them.
My grandfather is everything you would expect in one of these wonderful old men. He wears polyester pants. He has a collection of pinstriped button-up shirts. He wears thin plastic-like jackets with logos like 'Harrison Auto Units' written on the upper left chest. He is the ideal.
If you''re anything like me - and I think you are - you know there are endless advantages and blessings of being elderly.
Being a skinny 22-year-old college kid can sometimes be discouraging. I believe it is quite healthy to have a goal or a dream constantly in your mind to keep you from falling prey to the status quo. I dream of retirement.
To understand my dream, you need to experience it. I''ve experienced it.
A few months back, I was attending an event where the local sports club was competing. A good friend of mine noticed my poor seating choice and invited me to sit closer to the action with he and his 'posse.'
As I got up and began to squirm between the seats, an old man four rows up yelled out in his best old man voice, 'Why don''t you kids just sit down?'
I figured he was joking. I mean, it was just a BYU basketball game. When I looked up, I realized he was in no jolly mood.
My initial reaction was to be upset and yell back. Then I realized, 'Hey, he''s an old man and he has every right to yell at younger kids for no good reason.' My desire to obtain his position swelled.
Old men can get away with the darndest things. For example, I know many old men who refuse to get in the turning lane when making a left turn. How cool is that?
Not enough proof? How about what they wear in public?
Overalls. Polyester everything. Mesh-backed hats. And those 'old man' shoes. Seriously, where do they get those shoes?
I have this sneaking suspicion that when you turn 65 you''re issued a secret code by the government which unlocks the doors to hidden department stores where only old people clothes can be found.
Or maybe it is just a key to the back rooms of the D.I.
I try to be the old man I want to be, but I just don''t measure up.
I yell out things like, 'Smith, get your head in the game,' at basketball games. I laugh in an old man voice. I talk about investments and retirement plans. I play canasta. But I just can''t hack it. But I keep trying.
Let us pay our respect to the old men we know.
Let''s bring back the flavor.