Old Buddy

My son will bring groceries by

this evening. He’ll be wearing

a mask to help protect me from

the Virus. No hugs, though, we

gave those up with Social Dis-

tancing.

I’m getting too old for this

pandemic thing. It torpedoed

much of what could be the

rest of my days. Infirmities

keep me pretty well home

bound anyway.

On occasion, my son would

come and get me, and take

me to his place for a Sunday

afternoon filled with pizza,

family and football. With

the prospect of this isolation

going on for likely another

year or two, and the reality

of my disabilities worsening,

my future as an engaged

family member and social

animal does not look very

promising.

I have discovered, however,

that I can be my own best

friend. I had long ago learned

that I could also be my own

worst enemy.

I can’t figure out which one

keeps telling me, oh hell

what difference does it make?

You can put off until tomorrow

what you could have, should

have, would have done today.

For unless there’s a fire, flood

or tornado, tomorrow will

likely be the same. To save

from confusion, I call both my

friend and enemy, Old Buddy.

They have been with me my

entire lifetime so far.

Although he’s like a buddy to

me, I call my son, Andy. That’s

what his family and friends

call him.

             -30-

Chris Hanch 5-19-2020