“Cruisin’ and playing the radio with no particular place to go…”
Chuck
Berry
Lost in the mists of long ago, kids
spent their evening “cruising the drag”, driving up and down through a
particular part of town in a kind of social media on wheels—and what wheels
they were—muscle cars, no-go showboats, or just dad’s old pickup. For me and my
buddies, it was a ’57 Chevy. Wolfman Jack was blasting on the radio; the windows
were down and there was no particular place to go.
But just because we were cruising
and going nowhere in particular, didn’t mean there was nothing to it. There
were preparations to undertake before hitting Main Street. We didn’t realize it
then, but this was preparation for life. There was more to it than just going
along for the ride. There were winners and losers, successes and failures, and
in-crowds and outcasts. Life on the street was no cakewalk, there were no safe
rooms, and participants were entitled to nothing—except maybe the occasional
single finger salute. Yeah, I had that coming once or twice.
In the course of all that cruising,
I learned that I really was going to some particular place—my own unique place in
the world. I had to find that place myself because the world, in those days,
didn’t stand aside to accommodate participants. Looking back, the place I made
back then somehow resembles the particular place to which I have arrived. What
a coincidence, right? Well, maybe not.
People cruising through life in warm
fuzzy cocoons and staring at screens are going someplace too. Fortunately, they
have evolved and no longer need to learn the lessons of the past. They are woke
to the fact that the world owes them a place of their choosing and need only
identify it to make it so.
I’m not complaining. I like my place,
it’s still under construction, but I made it. I’m proud of it and I defend it.
To again quote Mr. Berry, “C’est la vie, say the old folks…”
Maranatha
No comments:
Post a Comment