I don’t mean how Thomas Bruso’s brain functions, that’s not what I am talking about. I am speaking directly of those folks worldwide whose attention he caught after he whupped a young thug on an Oakland, CA bus. I wrote about him because his action solidly caught my attention as well as I believe it did almost everyone who was informed of it; but, I will say first, that I obtained all my information from public internet sources and that I have not yet personally independently verified the facts that influence the opinion I am expressing so what you really get here from me for the present is a bucketful of conjecture that hopefully will be useful.I wrote about Thomas Bruso shortly after he made news and I did so in a blog entry and when I was through writing with that I was content to let Thomas Bruso leave my thoughts; however, where that plan of mine fell through, was in that more recently the Bruso entry I wrote was discovered & has become a popular read amongst my visitors. Well, I ‘ve decided since I’m getting the numbers writing about people who are interested in Thomas Bruso and in what I have to say about him, that it is to my best interest to continue writing about the man, the existence of superciliousness I have experienced within the youth-centric middle population, and to further help myself understand the task of navigating through soft defamation on one hand, while maintaining the notion of the consequences to follow had Paul Buyan survived to be a senior citizen with a reach for a gray strong hero on the other.
The search for a Brussoesque hero probably works out best presented as ideation by a writer but probably not quite so well as by an action figure artist (because, I am the guy, who at a Halloween party a dozen years back had difficulty understanding why it wasn’t perfectly credible for me costumed as Zorro to have white sideburns and a barbered beard which was infused with frost.). The lack of acceptance of why that wasn’t okay still remains silent for me and easily remains as fodder for another old-fogie cartoon carricature.
My motivation for my investment in this roiling issue is dispicable age profiling which I take personal with its consequent damage to my male ego and to my manly pride—both of which I continue to gleefully maintain no matter how vintage may seem my date of birth. I am upset because of the existence of a dishonorable concept and the burlesque coinage of what being a senior is about that disturbs me to the quick of my soul! When people use the “old” adjective instead of “senior” within the range of my impaired hearing, or in reference to me, or merely the inference pointed in my direction, this caging of the life-hardy aspirations of a group of mature individuals implodes for me as a cheap shot attempting to sneak under the radar without committing a crime with the application of current convenient chat of soft elder abuse, resulting in my frosty-senior inclination to slap them!
Well, Thomas Bruso did a slap for me! I’m pretty sure he did it for a lot of us. I am greatfull, sir. But note, the pounding of fists on a bus by a geriatric hitter may be a remarkable and a heroic one-thing but being amply served soft elder abuse at the Thanksgiving table dinning table may hurt worse; no thank you, son, to a second helping! What was anticipated as a blessing turned into a resolve to eat safely alone next year.
Where I am going with all this is, given what I have read, Thomas Bruso has not lived his life gracefully. Please Google or Utube him to get a sense of this. And, the parallel between the two of us--although I remain as an invisible senior who also thrives on Senior Discounts--is that neither have I; each day I set up my work load, things I need accomplish, short term or long term, and a lot of times I get through my objectives, but do I do any of these gracefully—mostly never, I drop and break a dish, get on the nerves of my son, I strip the threads on my carburetor trying to change the little brass gas filter, I make my payment at the bank, but forget that I have to have it in on Friday if it is due on Monday, I have a critical appointment in Oakland, and I get off the Bart at one station after the one I discover I should have exited at and have to get back on the train and go back and still I keep my appointment … but I am 30 minutes tardy, speak too loudly and forget to bring my dentures. Heck no, I am active and strong for a man ‘they say of my age’ but at living my life with grace… heck no, I suck at it.
I had polio during the epidemics of the Forties and then served 4 years in the US Marines, made rank, and came out with an honorable discharge; and what does that say about me; well, I sure was happy to get out of the Marines alive but now as a senior citizen, my completed tour absolutely gives me personal satisfaction of course, and by my own opinion demonstrates ability to sustain a hard line of personal resolve. However, was I a class act in the Marines and complete my service smoothly, of course I was not. I was once asked, by someone interested in the Post Polio syndrome, if I was able to keep up on the runs and marches, and obstacle course in the Marines. My answer was, no. I could not. Did I receive sympathy from the DI’s and a lot of “Well, private, you did your best; nice try!” What do you think? However, my commitment and my resolve to do the job I enlisted to do, was as trigger-pulling steely and as iron-butted resolute as was any Marine’s but did I serve my four year enlistment in the US Marines with style, heck no!
I survived the war in Vietnam as did Thomas Bruso and I am grateful for that but I am convinced that had I not completed my enlistment before it commenced, I would not have. I also survived the Polio epidemics of the Forties but given the life-long anquish and awkward consequences of having one’s sensations detoured as the result of being treated with the Australian nurse, Sister Kenny’s, woolen hot pack method of combatting polio, a discussion of which is quick to my heart but outside the scope of this writing, but the caveat is that had I not been just a child and if I had a choice in the decision, I wish Polio had been an illness in which they could have pulled the plug and let me fly away. I’m not sure but I wonder now that I am living on borrowed time which for me seemed to start long ago and if maybe eternity is a better place to spend as a child angel than as an old fart with wings.
Now, am I aging gracefully? Again, the Post Polio Syndrome aside, the response is no … and I have concluded that to do so for me and others to do so is inappropriate. Given the human condition with its reach for a perfection that will enable them to be invisible and shielded from criticism of younger relatives for their glitches, I too hide behind a sports jacket and look good with my black cowboy hat but am I cool, no, more aptly, I am frosted, handsome, and occasionally get into long conversations with females younger than me who may not have fathers.
To continue on with my run here about appearances, Dick Clark always seemed the same to me all my life, from when I was a boy and watched him on American Bandstand … that is until not long ago when I saw him accept an award on television, and at that time the reality of his aging was obvious. My point of direction here is that plastic surgery and a wig and wearing clothes for a younger age bracket may make a man my age look freaky but it is an available option; if one is disturbed about the aging process not complimenting how he feels, it is change that is possibly one’s own hands. Sure, to the youth-centric middle it appears as weirdness but it is physical process that may help. I am recommending wearing black as a power color but I am not recommending turning into a Goth or a Machiavellian prince of darkness but I am convinced that creative movement is available for the senior of which adds turgency to frailness, which toughens up the mix, which fools the distance, and, which rewardingly for the elder person doing so provides the younger generation with a discomforting twinge of chaos which they are further required to cope with.
Deceptive strength and submerged athletic ability are a fact of life. Going by how someone looks doesn’t get it. Start something with, or bet against the wrong person, and as did this naive bully in Oakland, and you are screwed. How someone looks, or their age, their race, or their gender, young or senior, doesn’t have anything to do with how high they can jump, or lift the weight, or throw the ball, or run the race; or, as the instigator on the bus learned, how hard they can hit you up-side your face! I’d say, wisely factor in the possibilities of sustained athletic abilities within the unlikely community of gray or chance unhappy detours in the path of your life--most likely pain to your body and a bruised ego as did this individual in Oakland who unfortunately for him took the first swing at the strong old man.
What is new in the life of tough geriatric hitter Thomas Bruso, I don’t actually know. But, my wish is the publicity he has received has elevated his quality of life; and, I certainly hope that he surfaces within the news media now and again, for the gray and manly world would be a lessor place without attention given to him and other ‘big gray’ guys such as aging what’s-his-name, you know the big, strong, mustache-guy I’m trying to think of? You know, has a reality television show? Builds motorcycles.? What does he call his show? Oh, shit I’ve got it now, I remember his name; It just came to me, it is Paul Senior and American Choppers on the Discovery Channel!
So, the l question I posit metaphorically in closing is--before I go to the YMCA to work out-- given the history of both of these Bunyan’s, if Paul Tuetal and Thomas Bruso were riding down the street on the same motorcycle, who would relinquish the handle bars to whom and who amongst you might be in the sissy seat getting old as I am without grace?
(Please check out my older post-- TUESDAY, MARCH 16, 2010 GERIATRIC HERO: THOMAS ALEXANDER BRUSSO--well, maybe, almost, ...at least!
