THE LAST RIDE Well, this is it.  I mean they're taking my keys away tomorrow.  They don’t politely insist…they demand it.  Too many trips back home…and not making it home.  Trying to get inside a house that’s not my own.  Yep, that will do it.  It’s a sad feeling when your kids are now the parents and you're the child. The roles have been reversed.  But dammit, you take my car away, you take away my freedom.  This is still America, right?  What's next? I'll tell you what's next…if I can remember what's next.  Oh yea, the memory care facility.  As if someone's gonna care for my memory.  But anyway, where was I?  Oh yea, so before they take my keys away, I’m going on this road trip.  Don’t know where I’m going, doesn’t matter.  I might end up at Mt. Rushmore or the Dairy Queen in Peoria.  Fill ‘er up and take your chances.  I won’t know if I’m travelling down a road or on a gangplank.  I’ll take the ’68 Mustang.  I might as well go out in style.  I’ll keep going until the wheels burn off and the seat covers fade…or until the dementia police catch up with me.  You know, the last really big road trip I took was back in ’79.  I picked  up this waitress named Juanita in some hole in the wall dive in Clovis' New Mexico.  I lost her in a poker game in Minneapolis…or was it Sheboygan?  Well, I don’t remember and it doesn’t matter.  Now if I can just find those damn keys.  NOSTALGIA KILLS Driving around the ‘ol hometown makes me feel nostalgic Natalie.  How ‘bout you?  Do you realize nostalgia was once considered a disease?  Pining for the old times.  Hey look!  There’s old man Hawkins farm…or what's left of it.  The barn is still there.  That's where I got lucky.  No, no, not with a girl.  Snakes. You recall Rufus?  He had that lazy eye and the club foot.  He was the guy least likely to walk the straight and narrow.  Yep, well he left a little somethin’ somethin, up in the loft.  When I tried to retrieve it, two rattles were poised to strike me. But as luck would have it, there was a hoe propped up on a hay bale.  I grabbed it and cut their heads off before they could strike.  Yep…luck and nostalgia.  Maybe if we drive around long enough, one might be able to find that old oak tree with our initials carved in it.  We sure had something special then, right?  And after three kids, health scares, mortages, career changes…we still got something special babe. Right?  Natalie?  Did you nod off?  I must be boring you.  HELLO!  I can’t tell if you’re asleep…or dead. THE PARKING SPOT Well, I have some good news and some bad news.  The bad news is that our good friend Ronald died in his sleep last night.  God rest his soul.  The perfect picture of health, and then…the family is really heartbroken.  He had some years on him, but this was unforseen. But enough about Ronald.  The good news…is that I’m next in line to get his prime parking spot.  It’s a shame, isn’t it? …that someone has to die in order to move up in the pecking order. I mean, when I first moved into Shady Acres, I was parking in a lot two blocks away.  It's a hell of a walk for an old geezer.  Then Brenda passed, I moved up a block and took her spot.  And then…as luck would have it, our beloved Preston who lived just down the hall chokes to death.  I witnessed his last gasp.  Someone said I should have called for help but you know it was just his time to go. I will never know how to thank you Preston.  Sorry, never learned the Heimlich maneuver.  So now, I’m moving on up to that primo eastside curbside parking – the numero uno spot for all of us old farts who are still driving.  And now…after all the paperwork is officially filed…you gotta love retirement home bureaucracy…I'm there!  Hey, don’t want to show any disrespect to the dearly departed, but I deserve this. High fives all around.  Slow five for you Dennis, I see you're in your cart. Probably need to check out that melanoma.  Be proactive, don’t lose that parking spot. WOMEN Back in my day, we didn’t treat women very well. But I don’t know if they were ever treated well.  Look at the #metoomovement today.  It's just shameful…just all kinds of wrong…pathetic, the way we men still treat women.  The 60’s were suppose to usher in equal treatment and protection for minorities and women in the workplace.  Yea, right.  Women were still treated badly.  We groped, we slapped their asses, called them derogatory names…and much worse.  We were conquistadors on pleasure island. It was only our own lust that mattered. We did our jobs and then we had a little fun.  Fringe benefits if you will.  Women weren’t promoted at all…kept their existing job if they put out.  If you know what I mean.  So what changed for me?  It was when my daughter entered the workplace twenty years ago.  I realized that men hadn’t changed at all.  We're still a bunch of no good lecherous bastards.  But when I heard of my daughter's stories about abuse and harassment at her job…that changed me.  The new generation of men just learn the bad behavior from their fathers and granfathers.  Or hell, maybe its just in our DNA.  But you can change…have a daughter, have a meaningful conversation with your wife. We're getting there.  Women are in more leadership positions.  They make the rules.  They have political power…more than ever before.  Men that were like me, will be gone.  The world will be be a better place.