I like Ike

Back to the Fifties weekend at the fair grounds. Slick, sleek, souped-up cars move down the Avenue. A quick peak inside the vehicles comes with expectations of seeing young men, alive and electrified, in the prime of their lives, looking for girls, filled with anticipation and living for the moment.

Nope. Old men, out of shape elderly fellas with weathered wives in their windbreakers.

That's right, the fifties are dead. The decade's heroes rest in nursing homes and cemeteries. There's no going "back to the fifties," only forward, to the grave.

.................

In my big small town, on this Friday night, lawn chairs line the Avenue. People gather to pay homage to the fifties as it parades on by. But here I come instead, in my bland 2000 Dodge, bringing disappointment to their faces. I honk just the same, and wave, and yell out my window: "How 'bout back to the year 2000? Those were the days. Post-cold war, pre-911, we didn't know how good we had it."

They give me the finger, and I move on.