My father was one of those lucky self-made success stories, who managed to retire when he was fifty-two year old. He died twenty years later. Twenty years of retirement. Lucky bastard. And didn’t he know it!
He belonged to a generation of hard working, risk-taking, and adventure-seeking men. In German you’d say he was a person of “large format”. My dad always told us that his whole ambition in life was to be a Grumpy Old Man. His grandchildren didn’t call him grandpa, but Grumpy, as a term of endearment. I wish I'd remembered to tell him what a magnificant job he did at being grumpy. He was simply marvelous.
Today’s poems (here, here, and here), blog posting (here), and homage (here) are all dedicated to the Grumpy Old Men of the world. God bless you and hold you dearly.
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