Do you remember what “Bussing” used to be?

My parents trained me to say please and thank you, sir and ma’am, and would you mind passing the salt – Bozo!

OK, I learned the Bozo part from my brothers. 

In elementary school, I learned simple math, simple history and simple English. That’s because my teachers kept telling me how simple their subject and I was – I mean were… Wait a minute…  One “was” becomes a “were” when you add a second “was”, right teacher?

Once I got into high school, I realized how simple teachers were. English was very complicated, not to mention painful, as were history and math. Learning English required reading all kinds of boring books. Math evolved into geometry, trigonometry and algebra! Pure pain.  And history? OMG! It wasn’t just about the US!

College also had enlightening moments. I learned how to drink, get laughed at by pretty girls, and write long papers filled with big words saying nothing. 

The working world taught me that education was less important than kissing a**, and knowing which a** to kiss was critical. It also taught me how much of a waste school was. The only skill required to direct a TV show was timing down to commercial breaks. And TV operates in groups of 60’s, not 10’s. I had to learn a whole new math!

Then came kids: diapers, throwing up, feeding vegetables to the dog under the table and blaming it on siblings or, better yet, cousins when they came to visit. My oldest kid pushed so much spinach down the heater grate, it held up the sale of the house later. 

Grandchildren were so much easier, because I didn’t have to clean up or do anything but watch, laugh, and help them make messes.

You’d think, with all that knowledge, hitting old age would be a snap. Wrong. It’s mind-boggling.

First of all, how old do you have be to be old? My kids thought I was old when they were under 10. That opinion didn’t change in high school, college, entering the workforce, or with the arrival of my grandkids. I may be stepping out on a limb, here, but that disqualifies them in my opinion.

My Match dates don’t care; they’re just glad to see I still have (some of) my hair and can drive a car. 

My doctor’s don’t seem to care, except when they have to accept Medicare. That really ticks them off.

As long as I stay away from mirrors, I’m still virile, handsome, and 25…OK… 40. My wife dumped me because I threw all the mirrors away.

You’re only as old as your jokes, I say.  By the way, what are dad jokes, anyway? And, when you become a grandfather, are you jokes funny again?

As far as I’m concerned, old is anyone older than me, anyone who knows what “bussing” used to be, and anyone who checks obituaries on a daily basis. I only qualify for one of these.

OK… “bussing” is an old person’s term for kissing (I read about it in a history book, I swear)

(If you like this, pass it on. If you don't, pass it on anyway. Why should you suffer alone?)