Looking in the Rear View Mirror
I Didn't Ask to be a Senior Citizen (I was Drafted)
by
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Do you remember the first time you noticed that there was something going on with grown- ups that was never mentioned in front of you? I was about 7 years old when I first became aware that there was a subject that was not going to be revealed to my innocent ears. Eavesdropping can be a valuable tool for a young boy. I used it skillfully, especially with my two older brothers. They were in their late teens and not as careful with their conversations as my parents might be if I was in earshot. It was a Saturday night and they were getting dressed up to go out on dates. Each remarked that they hoped they’d get lucky and get a "little" tonight. I couldn’t imagine what they were talking about. What ever it was, judging from the knowing smiles on their faces, it was some- thing good and you got it from girls. I couldn’t help wondering, if whatever it was they were talking about was so good, why did they only want a "little"? Even at my tender age I knew that if something was good, I didn’t want a "little", I wanted a lot! As time went on and I slowly put the pieces of this puzzle together, I still found it hard to understand in terms of quantity. Like, " Joe’s smiling, he must have got a little last night". What would he do if he got a lot, laugh hysterically? Maybe to much is lethal! I never heard anyone say, " I got a lot last night and I don’t need anymore for a long, long time." It also must be addictive. No one says its something they want but always something they need! The women who dispensed a cure for this need also seemed to have an unending supply. But why did they mete it out in such small portions? Why did guys that had a girl who gave them a "little" get mad if she gave a "little" to some other guy? Seems democratic to me. If every man got a "little" more often and walked around with a smile on his face, maybe there would be no more wars, at least for a "little" while... My old neighborhood 1943; Bordens milk truck ( Elmer) on one side of street. Sealtest Truck 4 houses down. Mailman ( Mr. Hipple) standing on steps at Delehant’s house talking to a couple of neighborhood mothers. A car comes slowly down the street, driver looking at house numbers. As it gets closer the yellow and black sign in the windshield becomes clear to all, WESTERN UNION...Time stands still and the people are frozen in place each one praying, please don’t stop at my house. In 1943 the Western Union messenger was dreaded. No one wanted to read those common but feared words, "We regret to inform you." Same neighborhood 1944; I get off the bus 2 blocks from my home. I pass homes that have a small rectangular pennant in the window. They have a white background with a red border. In the center the family could put a blue star for each son they had in service. If you saw a gold star you knew what that meant. Car’s parked along the street with an "E" sticker on the wind- shield. This was for gas rationing. Kids with a wagon going door to door collecting old news- papers for the "paper drive." Approaching my house I see my dad’s 36 Ford sitting in the drive- way. He takes the bus to work (Ford Rouge Plant) to save on gas. Patriotism was not something anyone discussed, it was just there , a natural thing. Loving your country and being proud to be an American were normal things that went with the times. It was not something you pounded your chest about and shouted, "Look at me, what a patriot I am." I cannot conceive of anyone at that time dissenting or protesting about our government and our mission. Victory was our goal and sacrifice was as normal a part of life as paying taxes.
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About the Book
The title tells much about what this book is all about. Being 70 and a senior citizen made me stop and think, "How did this happen so fast?" With encouragement from my wife Gale, I decided that it was time to put down on paper the off-beat way I’ve looked at things, from child raising to the social scene. I’ve always had something to say and usually in a humorous or what some call a smart-ass way. Mainly, I wrote this for my offspring, to show them what "papa" was like and what our country was like when I was a boy back in the 30s and 40s. The things that were not around that they take for granted now. Also some things that were around then that I wish they could have experienced. Then there are some things that never change. I do know they would all agree after reading this book, "He just had to have the last word, didn’t he!"
About the Author
Doug Jensen is a retired autoworker He and his wife Vi had five children and at last count fourteen grandchildren and two great grandchildren. When Vi passed away in 1994 Doug retired soon after and became a full time "Papa" to this clan. In the fall of 2000, Doug attended a high school reunion and was reunited with his high school sweetheart, Gale, whom he hadn’t seen in fifty years. They married the next spring. Doug is one who looks for humor in every situation, especially those that go with child rearing, marriage and the social scene in general. He made mental notes and sometimes wrote them down into little essays and opinions. He did so with a style he calls, part Erma Bombeck, George Carlin and a "been there, done that, senior". Doug and Gale live in northern Michigan.