Good old days… Maybe

You know I am getting old enough that my idea of a good time is to raise a garden.  I go out and water things with a hose just because it takes longer. 
I have had too much time to think lately, and I am kind of missing the good old days.
Forty years from now will be the good old days for my grandkids. 
They will reminisce about how rough it was because they had to know what question to ask their smart phone.  And how much easier it was when they all got AI-chips planted in their head that just told them what they were thinking and what questions to ask.
Yup, I remember the good old days when if you wanted a trophy, you actually had to win it.  I know!  It was terrible for our self-esteem. 
Back in my days, when I got a red ribbon, it accurately reflected that indeed I had crossed the finish line after the guy who got the blue ribbon. 
Then, if I won a trophy it used to mean that I had ran faster, jumped higher, or out wrestled some other kid. 
It is likely the other kid went home with his second-place trophy and adjusted his self-esteem, developed some resilience, and moved on by realizing that he was still a good person capable of great things. 
I always felt like “playground rules” were just preparing us for real life and the fact that life demands results not just participation.
There were things that I practiced and practiced, and to be sure I got a little better, but come race day it didn’t guarantee I got a trophy. 
It was society that decided that we all needed trophies just for showing up.  In my “good old days” way of thinking it cheapened the trophy for those that didn’t deserve it and robbed the ones that did.
Don’t get me wrong, I miss the good old days, but I wouldn’t trade my old weathered experienced soul just to have my young healthy body. 
Oh sure, it is tempting, because there are days when I forget things I shouldn’t, and I can’t do some of things I used to do.  But now I feel love deeper, appreciate family and friends more, and can watch a sunset in a way my younger version of myself never could or would.
I am older and sometimes I exchange fashion for comfort and function when it comes to clothes.  But I am hoping that my too kind and loving wife does not let me out of the house with my pants pulled up to my nipples.  I admit wearing running shoes and white socks pulled smartly up when I shouldn’t.
I remember growing up and sleeping in the back window of the car all the way to Moab to see my uncle.  I rode in the back of the truck without a seat belt anywhere to be found, just to feel the wind in my hair and to be able to fight and argue with my siblings without adult supervision. 
It was a win-win situation, they got peace and quiet and a chance to talk to each other and we got freedom to be kids, use potty words and call each other “stupid” without adults trying to fix us.
I miss the good old days, but not the avocado green- and gold-colored appliances and shag carpet, fluorescent posters, and black-n-white TVs.  Our TV always had tin foil on the antenna, and we used needle-nose plyers to switch channels because the knob was broken.
I do not miss using an “out-house”.  My grandmother had a two-seater out-house.  I am not sure why there were two seats as I never recall going to the bathroom and wanting to bring a friend along so we could chat. 
Nowadays I have been known to take my smart phone into the bathroom and read the news or text, hmmm.  Think about that word picture next time I send you a text…you just won’t know for sure.
People have the mistaken notion that we are all equal, but that is not true.  I firmly believe we should have equal opportunity to access.  We have equal opportunities to try, to work, to train and to enter the race.  But I can assure you that equal access and opportunity do not equal results.  
I tried for years to dunk a basketball, but my short stature and leaping ability of an English Bulldog ensured that it wasn’t going to happen.  I would have felt ridiculous if my coach had given me a trophy for dunking the basketball, when clearly, I had not.
I miss the good old days when eating dinner together was expected and if someone called during dinner time my mother would say, “No he can’t talk right now, he is eating dinner.” 
Now I look around and everyone around the table is texting.  Sometimes my grandkids are texting their sibling sitting right next to them.  I dunno.  I need to go watch my garden grow.