By old I mean 30 plus, which was older than my parents (and they were really old, although not ancient, like my grandparents). By cranky I mean impatient, scowling and, in severe instances, just this side of mean.

Needless to say, as a ‘little shit’, I took any unapproving look personally. Also needless to say, as a Codger, I have a different take on crankiness as a perception and crankiness per se. When a youngster, I was perpetually kinda tired of those old farts always telling me what to do. Being a grandfather, I’m at times pretty much as stern as any crotchety bastard I ever ran across as a boy.

My wife (if not matriarchal, certainly the archetype of grandmas), says to either of the grandsons – after grandpa has just shared some wisdom using a severe tone – “No, he’s not mad at you“. I think she means that I’m probably not mad at all and, even if I am, I’m mad at something or somebody else. In either case, she’s right.

I mean, even if I was angry at the kid, by the time he brings grandma to the table I’m a docile old dog. Hopefully, I remember what the ‘lesson’ was that I meant to impart. As for being mad at something else, well, perhaps not lividly, but I am a Codger and more likely than not I’m gonna be generally pissed off about the godawful bustle of life nowadays – the noisiness, being a non-voting marketing target, the rudeness of the entitled and the indifference of the rich, to note a sprinkling of what any normal person would find unsavory.

Here’s my point. It’s natural to be a little “cranky” when you’re a Codger. It’s actually hardly ever personal, so nobody should get too exercised about it. That said, it’s worth remembering that all hope of getting anyone younger than 40 to understand why you behave in such a way is totally in vain.

Regardless of how you view the ensuing journey – downhill means the same as uphill at this point – something in you knows that there’ll be no getting off of this road.

For a brief period, any troubling sense of the impending can be avoided, like a package that’s arrived pretty much when you expected it, but which you don’t feel like opening just yet.

Soon, though, your resistance is sanded down by what’s coursing over you and you find yourself thinking about everything as if it might be the last time you see, feel, hear, taste or touch it. And it just might be.

To me, Codgertown is a place peopled by those thus initiated – faithful aliens and born-again nomads. The buildings and boulevards in this city are constructed from the memories, expectations, regrets and anticipation of those who, when confronted by the obvious and undeniable, come to walk about and revel, as it were, in their re-possessed aimlessness. Having lived this long, most of them aren’t altogether thrilled at having their rudders taken away, but then again, it’s all part of becoming a Codger.