The older I get, the better I was.” Anonymously inspired.
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Laurels…we’ve got plenty of ‘em. They cling to our walls and clutter our closets. Our photo albums bulge with them. Metals and badges occupy vases, shelves and cabinets. Storage units overflow with yesterday’s cast offs. Out of sight, out of mind. Why do we keep them? Because we’re in love with our past.
We’re proud of our achievements, our metaphorical branches of Laurus nobilis, garland wreaths of athleticism, statesmanship and feats of extraordinary accomplishments. Ok, so that was then, and this is now. They’re our mosaic of a life lived, though now dusty, withered and faded with age like some Dorian Gray portrait.
The Millennial crowd doesn’t clutter their spaces with such memorabilia. Not only because about all they have are a few high school or college leftovers—Home Ec certificates, faded football jackets or too-tight cheerleading uniforms—but also because there’s not much of a past to brag about with this group. Yet, that is. Today they’re the YOLO generation…you only live once. College diplomas are no longer required for job interviews.
My mother displayed my college diploma to anybody who’d pretend an interest. It had a blue seal at the bottom with the words, ‘cum laude.’ I never got much mileage out of the Latin inscription. But a couple of folks did ask why ‘summa’ was not there. It became obvious when they’d gotten to know me a little better. I have no idea where that diploma is today. So much for the ‘cum laude’ laurel.
The other day I was rummaging through a chest of drawers looking for some plastic collar stays. You know, those plastic doodahs that keep shirt collars from rolling up like they had a perm. Lying beneath an old ROTC metal for sharpshooting was a copper coin, tarnished with age. Its inscription evidenced the fact that on January 3, 1980, I succeeded in running a 50-mile ultra-marathon. The older I get, the better I was.
It wasn’t much of a laurel for such an enormous effort, but it reminded me of some good years of the past when the collection of laurels was important. I was inspired then and ran several more. But who’s ever satisfied with achievements. Life demands more. So, I decided to try a 100-mile run. It never happened. Joints wear out. Titanium hips are not laurels.
Some people have laurel obsessions. I knew a fellow with a fat wallet and a foul mouth who bragged about his safari hunting prowess. He had built a ‘game-head museum’ in his office. A grotesque assortment of lifeless heads of wild animals with glassy eyes hung on the walls. They looked down with a taxidermized sadness I’ll never forget. It was a monument to human ugliness. It gave me the willies.
There were rugs from the scalped hides of bears, lions and tigers, their once-menacing heads looking sad and pitiful being some weirdo’s decorative laurel. An amputated elephant leg doubled as a coffee table, and on the wall hung a pair of ivory elephant tusks, crossed like two medieval swords. He recited from memory each kill, the gun used and the muzzle velocity of each rifle. He dressed like Hemmingway. It was a despicable display of human depravity.
Laurels have no boundaries. I know others who have seen the world, swam with whales, climbed the world’s Everest, trod the stony streets of Jesus, crossed Caesar’s Rubicon and slithered down the wet alleys of Venice. They have photographs and videos and live to impress dinner guests with their been-there done-that adventures. Only starving fools accept their invitations to supper now.
Look around, laurels are everywhere…newspaper obituaries, resumes for important committees and exclusive club memberships. Some even wear their monetary methuselah metals openly, like badges. They pretend to be like some highly decorated warrior in uniform, not realizing time is gnawing the bones of their relevance. Pompous fools only impress the dimwitted.
Laurel branches still grow. Some wither but some are perennially fresh. Age is no barrier to achievement. Opportunities are new every day. So long as we trod this side of the grass, laurels are possible to achieve.
We would ask, “Is there any laurel worth resting on?” I am certain of at least one: Love, generously bestowed, never loses its luster and is evergreen to the end. Maybe you know others.
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The older I get the better I was. Maybe you, too. Res ipsa loquitor.
Bud Hearn
October 2, 2019