Author: Clay Rivers

This Sunday morning’s activities deviated from my typical routine as I forewent attending the 10:15 church service for the one at 6:00 p.m. this evening. While walking my dog, a car stopped, its windows rolled down and a female head popped out.

“Hi, Clay,” the head said.

“Good morning,” I responded without a clue as to whom I was speaking.

“This is your second grade teacher, Mrs. Lucky, if you remember me,” the head said.

“Hi, Mrs. Lucky. How could I forget you?” I said. She was after all my favorite teacher. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you. You still look like a little boy—” she said

Wait. Say what now? That’s the last thing any guy wants to hear, especially a guy in his 50s.

Apparently, the years stripped Mrs. Lucky of any inhibition in speaking her mind. While my forty-eight inches may be close to the height of any garden variety second grader, my build is anything but. I mean, come on. Middle-age does that to a body.

“—in the face. You look good! Bye!” she said, rolled up her window, and drove away.

“Thank you,” I said and waved good-bye.

Time also must have ravaged her vision as I sported the beginnings of my annual winter beard.

I guess the way you see a person or thing really does depend on how you look at it. From a distance and with the passing of time, the easily recognized has a tendency to look the same. Upon closer inspection even the familiar changes in appearance and in essence.

The 80s group Deee-lite inspired the title of this post. The lyrics are as follows—