Over the years, Tom and I palled around with three other couples. We all lived within a few houses of one another. After the first five years of camaraderie, albeit a few small arguments over our political leanings, it was voted unanimously that we should no longer speak of politics if we wished to maintain our friendship.
Another five years came and went, and religion became such a hot topic that we added “we’ll never discuss our faith,” to the list.
Around the fifteenth year of our closely knit group, we’d listened to enough of our children’s accomplishments; because collectively, we now had a total of twenty-three offspring–and that was one hell of a lot of accomplishments. The subject of our kids was now off the table.
The twentieth year brought new headaches. Our youth’s glowing accolades, which none of us were allowed to mention, were now outweighed by the degree of mischief they got themselves into. Suffice it to say there were episodes which involved tobacco, a nun’s umder drawers strung up the school flagpole, some smelly stuff we were told was merely ‘ground oregano’, and a few misplaced youngsters deciding that it would be adventuresome to run away from home–if even for a night or two. Thankfully, law enforcement in the neighborhood was fairly lenient; however we swore in blood to no longer bring up the woeful tales of our adolescent miscreants when we were gathered together for an evening of alcoholic reprieve.
As we approached our fifties and sixties, something happened that none of us had banked on: We eight became grandparents to any of the following: the future president of the United States; maybe a famous astronaut; perhaps a medical genius, or possibly, a professional athlete. After a few years of trying to out-brag the others, we agreed that any talk of our expanding grand-progeny, or the passing around of their Sears’ photos, would not be tolerated under any circumstance.
Now it seems, as we approach the ‘other side of the grass’, we are left with only one topic: THE ORGAN RECITAL. That’s correct–Pills and Ills, Diarrhea and Constipation, Surgeries and Replacements, Graying Hair or Lack Thereof. Once again, it’s a gigantic case of each trying his or her best to outdo the rest.
Last evening, I suggested to the remaining few that we skip complaining about our failing health, and concentrate on the up and coming election. Perhaps it would be interesting to discuss just whom our future president will be.
I’m just sayin’—life as I know it, has indeed come full circle: What ensued was a highly raucous and spirited debate. Some left earlier than others.
Jan Chapman
April, 2012
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