Liam Loomer
The Wildcat Roar
Novi HS
1st Place
Division 1, News Writing
Feature Columnist
I am young, not even old enough to be considered an adult, but I still feel as though I’m some sort of ancient recluse.
I don’t know why or how, all I know is that it happened.
Quite honestly, I’d probably enjoy it more if I had the perks that came with actually being elderly: retirement, a motorized scooter and early bird dinners at the local Country Kitchen Restaurant.
Obviously, I’m not literally elderly. That would require some kind of weird Benjamin Button-esque situation, and frankly that reference is becoming kind of dated.
But I certainly feel elderly.
Not in the “oh, my aching hip” kind of way; rather the “I can’t believe my kids put me in a home” kind of way.
Not that I actually have my own kids – but you get the point.
I feel like the archetypal old man in the theatre department. Sort of like Chevy Chase when he was on Community – another dated reference, I apologize.
I’m just kind of there, spewing out all kinds of nonsense about my memories of the 00’s (the 1900’s – not the 2000’s) while the young’ns wait for me to kick the bucket so they can inherit what I leave behind.
Eight months ago I wasn’t old. I was still young, I was hip and with it.
Then senior year hit me like a ball hits a bat in a baseball metaphor.
I became the old bloke.
From my perspective I can see all the underclassmen in the theatre department growing together as both friends and artists.
Being the miser that I am, I’m left out of this tightly knit circle. They’ll give me the courtesy of a short interaction here or there, but beyond that I’m left alone to watch reruns of Golden Girls.
Some people in my situation might say that I’ve got only five months ‘till graduation.
It’s not enough time to make things right before I depart. I might as well read a book – you know, one of those things one could buy at Borders before it closed down.
I, for one, will not go gentle into that good night. I may be old, but I still got a fight in me.
It may be an impossible task, but before this year is out I will make an underclassman friend. Create a sort of Karate Kid situation: I’ll be Mr. Miyagi and I’ll teach some kid how to wax my car.
On second thought, that sounds like a bad follow-through to a good idea.
Perhaps I should find some lucky (or unlucky) underclassmen to mentor. I could impart all of my accumulated knowledge onto them. I could make sure the legacy that I’ve carried down from last year’s seniors lives on.
No more will I be the miserly old man, I will be the miserly old mentor.
Except, I know that won’t really happen.
I’ll be honest, the likelihood of my senior year ending with a bang like that is so slim that I might as well try flying to the moon on a bundle of balloons.
To an extent, I don’t really understand my situation.
Maybe I’ve changed since last year.
Maybe I’m just perceiving things wrong.
Maybe I really am just an old, corrosive man; though, I would hope I’m not.
I think it’s time for me to go back to my cozy chair and talk about my memories of the Spanish-American war. Then, before I even know it, I’ll be gone. I won’t have anything to worry about.
Until then, I’m just old and in the way.