I like old farts.
I am past-president of a local woodworking club. I am founder of the local woodturner’s club. Most of the members are old guys. Now, not all are old. Not all are guys. But most are both. I look out and I see wrinkles, age spots, stooped bodies. These wrinkles are honorable battle scars from daily combat. These age spots are medals for honorable conduct in the course of their lives. The stoop comes from bearing the daily weight of responsibility for family.
These guys have been through the conflicts of life and emerge victorious. They are heroes. These old men are sweet, as properly aged meat is sweet. They are sharing and caring, willing and eager to share any knowledge of woodworking or any other life experience they have. After all, they have trained and raised sons and daughters to be successful humans and useful citizens, so it is an easy extension for them.
They have proven to be loving, generous and kind. They have lived with the same women for 30, 40, 50, 60 years and have been steady and loving husbands. They can still see the vivacious and vibrant (and gorgeous) young women they first loved in the grand old ladies that are their wives.
If you look closely you can still see the tall, straight, strong, handsome and proud young men still present in the weakened and aching bodies. But tempered by experience. Aged to wisdom, like fine spirits. Shaped and polished by the rough edges of life. Gentle humor as a daily way of coping.
Oh yes, I like old farts.