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Roger on the Road

Some words on words

rogerheader“Teen-agers” is becoming a passé term. More and more I hear this age group referred to as “young adults.” Doesn’t seem like a good substitute to me. Shouldn’t  “young adults” be out making a living? I can remember when “young adults” held down serious jobs, got married, and began raising families.

I’m not grumbling about this. It’s the nature of language to change with changes in society’s perception. It wasn’t so long ago when being “gay” meant you were cheerful and friendly.

However, I’m not so happy with the term “senior citizen.” I stuck with describing myself as “middle-aged” for a long time. When people began laughing about it openly I finally stopped. Since then I’ve been looking for something a little more complimentary, something that recognizes not just the creaky movements and the white hair, but the wisdom acquired in a lifetime. The best I’ve come up with so far is “experienced citizen.”  On the other hand, it would probably be contracted to “ex-cit.” And that sounds too much like “exit.”

I’m open to suggestions.

Hang in there!

A group of senior citizens were sitting around talking about their ailments. “My arms are so weak I can hardly hold this cup of coffee,” said one. “Yes, I know,” said another. “My cataracts are so fuzzy I can’t even see the coffee.”

“I can’t turn my head because of the arthritis in my neck,” said a third, to which several nodded in agreement.

“My blood pressure pills make me dizzy,” another went on.

“I guess that’s the price we pay for getting old,” observed an old man. There was a short moment of silence.

“Well, it’s not totally bad,” said one woman cheerfully. “At least we can still drive!”

Warning

A burglar broke into a house one night. He pointed his flashlight around, looking for valuables. When he picked up a CD player to place in his sack, a strange, disembodied voice echoed from out of the dark: “Jesus is watching you,” it said.

The burglar nearly jumped out of his skin. He clicked his flashlight off and froze. After a bit, when he heard nothing more, he shook his head and continued. Just as he pulled the stereo out so he could disconnect the wires, he heard again, clear as a bell, “Jesus is watching you.”

Totally freaked out, the burglar frantically aimed his light around the room, looking for the source of the voice. Finally, in the corner of the room, his beam came to rest on a parrot. “Did you say that?” he hissed at the parrot.

“Yes,” the parrot squawked, “ but I’m just trying to warn you.”

The burglar relaxed. “Hah. Warn me, huh? Who in the world are you?”

“Moses,” replied the bird.

“Moses?” the burglar laughed. “What kind of people would name their bird Moses?”

“The same kind of people who would name their pit bull Jesus.”

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