Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.Missing the times of our past by a young man By J. G. Fabiano Ok, maybe I am not so young but I am not that old. Of course this is coming from a man who hopes not to consider him self old when he is sitting on a porch in a place called Shady Acres looking for his eardrum. But, the older I get the more I yearn for the simpler times in my life when I was part of a community that took care of each other. I felt this way after I left my heating oil company that allowed me to buy a winter's worth of oil in advance so I could lock in a price that would allow me keep my family warm this winter. I am not objecting to this practice but it does make me miss the times of my past when I had no idea what a gallon of oil cost. In fact, there was a time I never had to call the oil company to deliver because it was automatically done. I had no idea what the price was because I knew my oil company, who I had dealt with ever since I arrived in my home over 30 years ago, would take care of me and my family by offering me a fair price. The oil would be delivered and I would pay my bill. The oil company would also take care of my furnace. I never had to make an appointment to get it done or buy insurance in order to feel confident the dreaded machine in my basement would work. I don't ever remember seeing him fix the furnace. I knew he was there because I saw the old filters leaning against my garbage pails in my basement. Hell, I don't remember ever seeing a bill. I just thought it was part of the service he gave me when he delivered the oil. I even remember a rather difficult year I struggled financially. My oil company still delivered the oil but waited until I was able to pay the bill. We never even had a conversation about it. When times got better I paid the bill in full and remember writing a short letter thanking him for his patience. I also knew I would have worked four jobs making sure that bill would be paid. I guess that was the way things used to be. Driving home I remembered other times of my past when certain responsibilities of life were taken care of by my community. Banking was a task I left to my banker. I used to work with Maine National Bank. I knew the bank manager ever since I moved to my home in York, Maine. When I set up a checking or savings account I just walked into the bank and within minutes it was taken care of. When I needed a loan I was assured that the money would be in my account within the half-hour. But, more importantly when I had a problem or needed some guidance my banker would be there in order to handle any challenge I would put before him. Today, I have no clue who my banker is. In fact, my bank has changed names so many times I sometimes mix them up. During last summer my bank advertised how they were taking away service charges in order to promote community service. At about the same time I noticed I was charged new service fees on my account. When I called the bank they advised me to go to their web page and write an E-mail to their customer service link. When I did this they told me this was the way it was because they had to charge customers a fee when they did not use their automated banking system. When I asked why I wasn't advised of this I was told it was not the responsibility of the bank to advise their customers on how they should handle their banking. So went the idea of a full service bank plus the concept of placing my entire financial life in the hands of electronic strangers who do not want to be responsible. Reminiscing about my life today with what it used to be gave me a bit of a pain in the neck. I laughed to myself because I knew I couldn't go to my doctor to see what was wrong. I would first have to call for an appointment and make sure my insurance covered what had to be covered. Then it would take a least a month to get an appointment. If I thought it was an emergency I could go to the hospital hoping I would be admitted because if I wasn't my insurance would not cover it. This reality check reminded me of a time not so long ago when I had a case of sciatica. If one never suffered though this ailment you are lucky because it hurts. I was at school when it hit and I immediately told my principal I had to see my doctor. I didn't even call. I just crawled to his office, leaned on the receptionist desk and told her I needed to be fixed. She took me to a back room and within minutes my doctor was examining me and gave me something for the pain. He also told me I was too fat and the added bulk was pressing on the nerve. Subtlety was not one of my doctor's personality traits. Later on that night I called his house and told him the pain medication he gave me wasn't working. He then delivered other medication to my house and told me to take a couple, sit on my chair in front of my television and enjoy the show. Now he did not tell me to turn the TV on and after I woke up about two days later with little pain I understood why he failed to do so. Ok, so maybe I am not so young but I am not that old. Driving into my driveway I came to the realization my reminiscing about how my life used to be would become synonymous with my father's stories about how he walked ten miles to school every day.
The End.
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