(This is a column from a few years back during Riverfest Time, just in case you were looking for Del McCrory and couldn’t find him)
Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?”
He just grinned and shook my hand, and “No!” was all he said.
– The Weight
I cannot say when the change actually happened for me, and I suppose it came about gradually over a period of years. I am talking about my preference now for the “quiet evening at home,” as opposed to a “night on the town.” But it did happen and I guess I’m stuck with it – sad but true.
However last Friday I found myself, through no heroism of my own, stumbling out of control and back in time to another faint but familiar mindset.
It all started when one of my young co-workers named Jacob enthusiastically spoke of bluegrass and beer on the opening night of Riverfest. And before some of my wiser, half-century brain cells could mount their usual objections, I found myself strapped into the front seat of Jacob’s pickup on our way to Harvest Foods for discount passes. All the way there, Jacob kept selling, as he glorified the upcoming evening of cool late-spring breezes and sweet Kentucky melodies. There was no mention of the things that had, many years ago, caused me to choose the comfort of my couch over the excitement of the capital city’s annual and most anticipated celebration. Jacob, I surmised, could still see the big picture. To him, and the masses of young like him, the end prize was well worth a little pushing and shoving and humidity.
We arrived at the store and I bounded from the high seat of the truck’s cab, barely hearing the cracking of my knees over the traffic moving around me.
Inside, I confidently told the friendly check-out girl that I needed two passes to Riverfest, and for an instant I swear she gave me a look that said, “Are you sure?”
And of course I wasn’t. She must have seen my boomer in headlights fear, and, being younger and quicker, she instantly swapped my cold hard cash for a glossy Riverfest brochure and its content of two passes before I could close my fist.
Immediately, old fears screamed out and I told myself it was a mistake, so I looked to Jacob for renewed confidence about my decision and the night ahead. He was more than up to the task, and by the time we arrived back at work I could feel his twenty-something enthusiasm coursing through my clogged arteries. So much so, in fact, that I immediately picked up the phone to call my wife Kathy and give her the great news. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hi honey. I hope you’re in the mood for some fun tonight because do I have a special evening in store for you. I have in my hands two passes to Riverfest. And tonight at nine o’clock, you and I will be sitting under the stars with a cold beer while we listen to the melodic bluegrass rhythms of the Del McCrory Band. Doesn’t that sound great babe?
Kathy: Who is this?
I finally convinced her it was really me, but in doing so I had stayed on the phone too long, because during the conversation she convinced me to let her sell the passes to a lady she works with.
I guess it’s true what they say about youth being fleeting. This dance I had with it took up about an hour.
Later that afternoon, I was waiting in my car for Kathy to come out of work, when someone I know pulled up next to me. He is another child of the Fifties like me who probably remembers things like staying outside on a summer night until your parents had to drag you in, or crawling under your wooden desk at school for protection against atomic radiation. I rolled down my window and he said, “Well, I hear you finally came to your senses.”
Sad news travels fast I guess.