Mistis Adventures Part 148
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Double TearsChapter 148 free porn video
“Sensus, non aetas, invenit sapientem.“
(Good sense, not age, brings wisdom.)
—Publilius Syrus, Maxims
10 MAY 2021
I think we have it all backwards. I certainly did. I was a doddering old fool and selfishly wanted my life to continue. I wanted to live forever, if the truth were known. Why? I could go on and on about the value of life and how it shouldn’t be given up at any cost. I fully intended to live to be 100. Maybe 200. If I survive in this body, certainly 150 is not beyond my range.
But I was wrong about my life. I had all the wrong reasons for wanting to be young again. My eighty-year-old life was not precious. I had nothing to offer this world. My brain, my ideas, my attitudes had all calcified. I was a hardened conservative. Well, as they say, ‘If you aren’t a conservative at eighty, you have no brain.’ I’ve added to that. ‘If you are STILL a conservative at seventeen, you have no heart.’ And, in fact, you didn’t have one at eighty, either. What I had backward was believing my precious life was worth saving. My brain. It wasn’t. The life that was worth saving was this seventeen-year-old I now inhabit. The passion and compassion.
Older, wiser, sager heads are what is destroying this country. There should be mandatory retirement from government service in ANY capacity at sixty-five. Even that is too old. Government should be left to the young, the compassionate, the caring. As old people, we’re frightened to let go of the control and give it to the young. Why? Because we’re afraid the young will treat the old like we have treated them. Of course, I’ll feel different when I’m eighty again.
Already, I’m feeling the pressure to let Peyton go. I could feel it even in Mom when I held her last night. Aside from our emotions and attachment, Pey’s life is considered moot. She didn’t solve any great world problems. She didn’t write any great symphonies. She didn’t find any cures. She won’t be missed.
That’s the way society looks at youth. Send them to the fields to harvest tomatoes. Send them to war to enforce our will on the world. Whose will? Old people’s will. Losing a few kids here and there—whether in a foreign war or to defend our second amendment rights—is a good thing. Thins the herd. Survival of the fittest. Well, it thins the wrong end of the herd. Send the old people to the fields so they can do something useful before they die. Start suggesting old people’s homes are better targets for mass murderers than schools. Old people move slower and are easier targets. When politicians reach that mandatory retirement of sixty-five, put them in National Service for two years. Better yet, sign them up to be foot soldiers. Put the expendables on the front line.
My ‘old man’ had nothing to offer this world. He wasn’t even that good a lover. I’m through with him. I don’t care if I don’t remember anything from that past life again. It’s youth that has the potential to change the world for the better, not age. That old bastard tried to get me to wait safely on the outside of the rubble for qualified help and would have left my sister to die alone.
Fuck him.
I went back to school Monday morning more determined than ever to help Cindy into a place where she could change the world with her music. And the first step in that process was to get her in front of that audition committee at the National School of the Arts.
I think our advisers were all surprised when I called a meeting of those who could attend for Tuesday evening. I was most concerned that our mothers and LeBlanc were at the meeting. If Jannie, Vinnie, Sophie, and Donna could be there as well, so much the better. Neither Cindy nor I could just take off and go to Washington DC in July without parental permission and support. Monday night, I called Ray and questioned him regarding what he knew about the special tracks that seemed to be opening up to people going into the National Service. He said he’d be there for the meeting.
When Dad and Mr. Marvel heard about what I was asking, they both decided to attend the meeting, too. I hadn’t intended to leave them out. They’d left most of the management of Cindy and me to our mothers. I felt somehow that their participation would bode well for us.
“The National School of the Arts has contacted me three times now to come for an audition,” I said, laying the most recent letter on the coffee table among us. I was surprised that everyone had decided to come to the meeting, which we held at Nanette’s house as a neutral location. Mom and Dad were living there but it wasn’t their home. A construction company had parked some heavy equipment in front of our house, prepared to start demolition before the weekend. Our ‘replacement cost’ insurance had agreed to rebuild the house but also determined they would replace it with a three-bedroom two-bath home consistent with what we had before and with the size of houses in the neighborhood. It would be a little more modern than the former house, simply because of advances in construction techniques and material since the original house was built. I think Mom and Dad planned to sell the house as soon as it was completed. They couldn’t see moving back into the space that had claimed their daughter’s life.
“I think you should go,” LeBlanc said. “You’re a talented musician and they could help you advance to the next level.”
“Not me. Us,” I said. “They’ve carefully suggested a time for the audition for after Cindy turns sixteen. They can’t openly recruit her until then. It’s something about recruitment regulations.”
“Why would they be interested in having Cynthia audition?” Mark asked. Cindy’s father wasn’t going to sit back idly while I pushed my agenda through. “I can understand you. Even if you don’t transfer there for your senior year, you’ll start National Service after graduation. My daughter has another year and a half after you turn eighteen before she is even required to take the test. You could be nearly out of service by the time she starts.”
“Ray?” I said. Joan’s father nodded.
“We’ve discovered the National Service is expanding its footprint,” Ray said. “It’s something that couldn’t be done in the startup years. There was too much pressure to get the program up and running and all resources were devoted to getting four million teens a year into some kind of productive capacity. But two significant things have occurred. First, the infrastructure repairs in the country are well on their way to being accomplished and returned to a maintenance mode. They have to find more places to put kids. Second, the wholesale move of service corps personnel into the fields to replace migrant workers has had a huge backlash. I wouldn’t be surprised if we start seeing some significant incentives being offered to kids who volunteer for hard labor. It might even mean shorter terms of service.”
“How does that fit with equal treatment?” Dad asked.
“Good question. We aren’t clear on how it will all shake out. It’s possible that one of the incentives will be a year of hard labor and the kids get moved to a strict educational/training track to complete their service. Colleges and tech schools are jumping all over that. But a part of the process includes enabling more kids to volunteer for service before they complete high school,” Ray said. “I’ve looked over the invitation and have done a fair amount of research on both the school and the trends.”
“You think they’d want Cynthia to drop out of school to join the service a year early?” Betty asked.
“I think that’s a distinct possibility. Even though they can start actively recruiting when a student turns sixteen, they can’t actually induct them before they turn seventeen. I think this is only being done for students with exceptional talent.”
“I don’t want to lose Cindy in our orchestra her senior year!” LeBlanc almost shouted. Funny, he was quite willing to see me transfer out.
“I think what they are after is consistent with what we stated as our goals when Cindy and I started performing together,” I said. “You yourself said you wanted Cindy to rise above the standard and make a mark on the world. Would you want to hold her back from doing that now?”
“We can’t know that’s what they want,” Mark said.
“Exactly,” I responded. “The only way we’re going to find out is if Cindy and I go to audition.”
“So, you think we should let our sixteen-year-old daughter accompany you alone to Washington DC? I think not,” Betty said.
“I’m actually hoping you and Mom will go with us. We are minors. We wouldn’t be able to do anything without parental permission anyway.” Betty looked a little mollified and glanced at Mom. Mom kept her neutral face on.
“I think Jacob has the right idea,” Ray said. “We won’t know the true scope of what they want and what the opportunity is unless they attend the audition.”
“And remember, an audition is not an offer of any kind. They haven’t been guaranteed anything,” Donna said. “I’d like to send an entire team with them and see if we can video their audition for a patron performance. Mostly, we’ve let people know there won’t be any new performances this summer. We hoped to capture something at the Kansas Ren Faire, but it won’t be the same as what we did in Kentucky last fall.”
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