Phew is all I gotta say, as I crunch an Old-Fashioned Oatmeal Cookie, phew.
I never thought I’d be wishing for the past.
Not that my past is all that tragic. Or sad. Or anything other than a fond memory.
Still, when I was a kid I was painfully shy, stick thin, and tough as nails. Not a great combination if your main goal in life is just being accepted. I quickly learned that swimming pools and tennis courts fell behind enemy lines. Day camp was deadly. Even the street in front of my house was a battlefield. Kids can be cruel. Unsupervised and roaming the neighborhood they can be colossally cruel. Like a wolf pack– on the hunt and in your face.
The past four years have reminded me how that felt.
But, I also remember myself as a young and out gay man. I remember how powerful I felt on that Santa Barbara, California dance floor in my Boy London sweatshirt.
But that was then and this is now. This election. This time. This moment. They make me yearn for the simpler things. A time when we could all agree that an Old-Fashioned Oatmeal Cookie was good. It wasn’t fancy. It may not have even been my favorite cookie. But damn it tasted good.
It’s a happy day when you can enjoy a cookie. Make it an Old-Fashioned Oatmeal Cookie and you hold the best of times in your hand.
I’ve got an Old-Fashioned Oatmeal Cookie in my hand because I’ve got a feeling that “Happy Days Are Here Again”. If only I still had that damn Boy London sweatshirt! GREG