The regulars were jaw jacking in amen corner as I eased my way past them to the counter at McDonald’s this morning. The group was well represented as I joined them for coffee and enlightenment. Bullet Head Jones was lamenting on the price of gas, while Jumbo Jim injected the reasoning of inflation, Cement Slim couldn’t get a word in edgewise but that was due more to his stuttering than his reasoning.

I was content to enjoy my sausage and egg biscuit and let the ebb and flow of the conversation carry me along, until I happened to hear someone in the back of the group comment on how President Obama would find a way to get us out of this mess. All of a sudden the waves of passion in the conversation became a tsunami of discontent. It was as if the whole group had come down with Cement Slim’s speech impediment. I glanced back at the instigator of the turmoil and received a wink, a nod, and a whispered comment, “That ought to keep them going till lunchtime.”

There’s nothing like a group of middle aged, world weary, battle scarred warriors, just looking for the closest windmill to battle, to get a hot, sultry, humid, summer day off to a rip roaring start. The ladies on “The View” television show could take lessons from these fellows. But it was all in good clean fun and no one was getting hurt, and if one hung around long enough, one might unintentionally learn something.

You have to remember, most of these gentlemen had fought wars for the right to sip their coffee and freely comment on the woefully unintelligent ways of the current generation. If given only half an opportunity and a 10 minute head start this group could solve most of the world’s problems by suppertime. They had done it when it counted, and to a man, if needed, stood ready to roll up their sleeves and bring some common sense to, in their view, such troubling times.

Though my generation was slightly behind those of “the greatest generation,” we too had our valleys of despair. A little thing called Vietnam kept a lot of us otherwise distracted, not to mention growing up with “drop and cover” exercises under our school desks. We made it through the “love, peace, groovy, flower” generation. Somehow we survived the Nixon, “whip inflation now,” and Jimmy Carter years. We made our mark and matured under Reagan, and having recently reached the age of retiring, had found our voice enough to confidently have an opinion when it was asked.

My coffee was cold, arthritis making my joints pop as I rose to make my exit. My opinion being asked, I freely shared that the 1972 Chevrolet Vega was the worst car I had ever owned, to nods all around. I continued out the door and home. My home, my recliner, and one of I’m sure many naps that afternoon. But come the morning, with fresh brewed courage in hand we will battle the windmills once again. I’ll be right back.

You can reach Joe Lee at clevelandtidbits@yahoo.com