Cottontop

 

 

“Get off the road, you old cottontop!” 

   I heard the young man say,

As he sped on by my Gramps and I

   In his young and reckless way.

I said, “Grampa, what’s a ‘cottontop’?

   Is it something that you wear?”

He laughed and ran his fingers through

   His snow-white, thinning hair.

 

“No-o, ‘cottontop’ is just a name

   That young folks use in vain,

To old folks, when they get impatient,

   Take ’em for a pain.

But I take it pos’tive, son, you see

   It shows I’m not a flop!:

I’ve cottoned on to the game of life,

   And I’ve come out—on top!

 

“Yeah, I’m proud to be a cottontop,

Turn my hearin’ aid up for Boston Pops,

Dance to Lawrence Welk, trot the Lindy Hop

   On a plastic hip or two.

Yeah, I’m proud to be a cottontop,

Like my dear but not forgotten pop.

Why, with store-bought chops ’n’ optiks

   Heck, there’s lots that folks can do!

 

“Yep, I’m glad to be a cottontop,

Takin’ guided tours to exotic spots;

Maybe hobnob among them Hottentots

   Before my life is through.

Yeah, I’d rather be a cottontop

Than be starin’ up at a coffintop

’Cause I hear it’s dark—and there ain’t a lot

   That a body can do!

 

“And now, son, it’s your turn to live

—So take all that life will durn well give!

For there ain’t but one alternative,

   And the optin’s very few.

Soon you’ll be a young buck in your prime,

Just tuck away the odd thin dime.

And with luck, and lots o’ time, you’ll be

   A cottontop too.”

 

Grampa’s wisdom sort of tuckered him

   So he gave a little sigh;

He’d hum a bit, then look at me,

   And warmly wink his eye.…

 

 

“Looks like there’s trouble up ahead, son,

   Down by Potter’s Brook.”

“Awh!… It’s an accident!” I gasped,

   And I just couldn’t help but look.

First we saw the busted railing

   On the bridge above the bar,

Then the awful-twisted wreckage

   Of the young man’s souped-up car.

“I sure do hope he makes it, son,

   I hope that he pulls through.”

“Yeah! with luck,” I said, “—he’ll live

   To be a cottontop too!”

 

(Grampa softly sings)

 

“I’m proud to be a cottontop,

Turn my hearing aid up for Boston Pops,

Dance to Lawrence Welk, trot the Lindy Hop

   On a plastic hip ’r two.

Yeah, I’m proud to be a cottontop,

Like my dear but not forgotten pop.

Why, with store-bought chops ’n’ optiks

   Heck, there’s lots that folks can do.…”

 

 

Although so very long ago,

   This memory is as clear

As if he were beside me now,

   Still singing in my ear.

Now when grandson Bobby hears me sing,

   It’s Grampa’s voice comes through:

“Why, with luck, and lots o’ time—you’ll be

   A cottontop too!”