AN OPEN LETTER TO JIMMY BUFFETT
(yes, THAT Jimmy Buffett.)
Mr. Buffett,
(In the absence of actually knowing how to address you, I'll just err on the side of formality, as is my nature,)
I will presume, first of all, that you're not a regular follower of this particular blog. God knows how many fans I really have, outside of my family and friends, and the various Boards of Education that are probably surreptitiously watching my every word. I also don't profess to be the biggest Parrothead in Creation, although "Margaritaville" and "Fins" are both on my MP3 player. No, what drove me to this post was reading A Pirate Looks at Fifty, although I'm not done with it yet, either. I read slow, I like to savor a good thought in the manner some relish a Cuban cigar or a single-malt scotch. Yeah, I realize that you wrote it better than 10 years ago, but the parallels are striking between you and I; both surrounded by houses full of women who probably don't entirely get what makes us tick as men, although they at least respect our passion. Like I said, I'm assuming you're not a regular reader of this column, so here it is in short form, to save you the trouble of reading the last three-plus years of posts; I'm a car guy, and always have been. On the second attempt at this marraige thing, I married one who respects that, and can at this point tell a Ferrari from a Lamborghini, and listens to me, but still tells me when I'm starting to ramble meaninglessly. I'm also a substitute teacher, having "discovered myself," so to speak, at the age of 40, teaching English in South Korea; after said second marraige was already underway. Yeah; now that's a great woman, one who'll stand by you as you go halfway around the world to figure out who you are. Not like she was completely bulletproof through the course of all that, but we both survived, and we're still married. I'm not entirely where I wanna be just yet, but I'm getting there, slow but sure. More education, certification, and other necessities. Yikes, and away, in the immortal words of Daffy Duck. I also had a harder time than I figure I probably should have while pursuing my Bachelor's Degree, but I made it through and got it, and at this point in life, I feel like I'm actually using it, after wandering aimlessly through a fair portion of my time on this planet. I, too, have had a near-death experience, although mine was the result of ignoring the signs of a ruptured appendix for ten days; by the time it knocked me down and sent me to the ER, I was probably hours away from being history. At least that's what the doc said afterwards. And although I can't really say I necessarily grew up as Catholic as you, (never having gone to a Catholic school,) I still go on "Catholic Autopilot" when hunkered down there in the pew. There's a funny story about my first wife, (a dyed-in-the-wool Missionary Baptist sister,) and my "Catholic Autopilot," but there's at least a few people I know of who read this column, and God knows who else; perhaps if I should ever be so blessed as to meet you in person, I'll regale you with it, should you so desire.

I admit, I've never been a surfer, (my motor skills resolutely suck,) I'm a bit young to have actually been a card-carrying hippie (what kinda card that'd be, I don't know,) and given the money, I'd probably sooner blow it on a '37 Talbot-Lago T-150SS "Teardrop" coupe before ever contemplating a Grumman Albatross, but, eh......chalk 'em up to details.

Anyway, what struck me most of all was how you related to your dad; like you, I learned, probably later than I should have in life, just what an awesome guy my dad is. This is a guy who has more letters behind has name, signifying his myriad accomplishments, than some would say is right for a person to have in one lifetime. I have been to baseball games with him, (although by no means enough, if I'm feeling petty and greedy,) I have heard him tell me he's proud of me, and I have heard him say he recognized my being truly in love with wife #2. And now, I'm watching as he slowly loses his mind, although unlike your dad, it's Parkinson's, not Alzhimer's. The net effect is similar, he hallucinates about being on a boat as he's sitting in his La-Z-Boy in his living room, and talks about babies everywhere. I hate to watch it, but beyond my wife and stepmother, no one else in the family seems to want to, although many recognize that he is not what he once was. Reading someone else's words about being open as something like this is unfolding is comforting; it makes me feel like I'm not alone. At this point, I'd say dad is pretty much past the point of no return, but he still gets names right (mostly,) and can still eat and drink for himself (mostly.) But I can identify with the idea of missing the man man you knew your dad to be. I've said in the past that given the genetic component in Parkinson's, I wonder if this is what's in store for me when I'm his age. Speaking of that, though, his age is 80, which bests the ages of the passing of all his brothers by 5 years. At this point, he's beaten the odds; I should truly be so lucky.

Anyway, thank you for showing so much honesty, good nature and true feeling when you wrote A Pirate Turns Fifty. I'm six years away from 50 myself at this point, I guess it's just nice to think somebody's been down that road already. Not exactly, but close enough, so thank you.