November 4, 2015 Article

Leave the Old Coot alone!

By Merlin Lessler

It starts when you’re a little kid. You head out the back door to play, to freedom. Your mom says,” Get back in here young man and put on a jacket. It’s freezing out there!” Her thermostat is different than yours. Freezing to moms is any temperature below 70 degrees. To kids, it’s 40 or less. “Oh ma,” we complain, but under our breath we say, “Leave me alone.” We slink back in the house, put on the coat she holds out to us, make our escape, turn the corner, take it off, tie it around our waist and join the gang in play. Everyone has their coat tied around their waist.

“It’s dinnertime; wash your hands!” – “It’s time for bed; brush your teeth and wash your face.” – “When you get to Bobby’s house call me so I’ll know you made it, and be polite; say thank you and please.” We resent it, but these admonishments are what make us civilized. When mom is done, she hands off the baton to our wives in a secret meeting in the hall at the wedding reception. She apologizes, “I did the best I could; the rest is up to you,” turns and walks back to the party, looking 20 years younger and smiling, really smiling for the first time in years.

We revert right back to our cave man state; it’s as though we were never taught manners, civility or common sense. Men aren’t from Mars; we actually are from Earth, but not of this modern era. We exist in a prehistoric time, just barely out of the cave. We walk upright, we have human features, but we haven’t finished evolving. 

So, it goes from mom, to wife, an unending struggle and full time supervision to make and keep us human. It works, for the most part, until we reach old coot age. Then, the suppressed LEAVE ME ALONE gene reemerges. It’s been dormant for a long time, but it takes hold in earnest. “Honey; you can’t wear that in public!” – “Honey; a dollar tip isn’t enough; the bill was over 100 dollars.” Honey! Honey! Honey! – Leave me alone!” – Leave me alone!” – Leave me alone!” Finally, our Honey gives up! Leaves us alone. That’s when you see us in public in pajama bottoms, a too tight letter sweater from high school, a washed out New York Yankees baseball cap with Mickey Mantle’s signature across the brow, yakking about the good old days and all the ills of today’s society. If not that, then we spend endless hours detailing the multitude of physical afflictions we are dealing with. But, we’re happy. We no longer have to say, “Leave me alone.” There is nobody around to say it to. I wonder why?