Old Indians Young Indians


Ya’ know that old trees just grow stronger,
And old rivers grow wilder ev’ry day.
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say, “Hello in there, hello.”

So if you’re walking down the street sometime
And spot some hollow ancient eyes,
Please don’t just pass ’em by and stare
As if you didn’t care, say, “Hello in there, hello.”


I have reached the 55 mark and can order from the back of the menu. I think back about a decade ago and see how I viewed the old goats of my age now. They were old in my mind, but not in theirs. Just like now. I am older but not real old. Its funny.

Being young should be the greatest thing in the world. It is. Sometimes. Being old is pretty damn good too. When it comes with the surprises – grandchildren – patience – awareness – appreciation.

Being young has its surprises – first love – second love – children – the joy of new experiences – the laughs – the constant moving/visiting – and wonder.

Can there ever be connection between the young and the old?  The Old Warrior telling stories to the young impressionable or the young narrow focused?

The Old Indian has much to offer and the young Indian has the most to offer because they are just starting. Can you imagine the wonder of the young that can possess the wisdom of the old?





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