A Drifter In Spirit

I’m 62 and I’m going to guess that there are more guys in my generation who would be okay, and maybe even proud of being labeled a “drifter” when compared to a younger generation. In my generation I am going to guess that about .02% of the male population would be fine with that tag. Obviously I am not talking about an overwhelming percentage. But I would guess that of the 20-something males, the percentage that would want to be referred to as a “drifter” would be about .005%.

This all comes from the fact that the men of my generation grew up on westerns while the males of the 20-something generation grew up on basic action flicks, or, simply put, car chases. I cut my teeth on westerns and I have occasionally dubbed myself a drifter: that enigmatic stranger of the silver screen who would quietly ride into town and for a short time alter the local temperament, and not always for the good. Other possible tags would be “saddle tramp” and “vagabond”. I do not like such titles as “hobo” or “vagrant”. Those words bring to mind someone with bad teeth, sprawling on a downtown sidewalk in smelly clothes, a person completely devoid of mystery and adventure, unlike a saddle tramp or drifter.

As I see it, a modern-day saddle tramp would probably ride a motorcycle, although he might drive a small, well-worn car. He would travel into a small town and find work as a laborer, perhaps in the housing sector. He would hole-up in a cheap motel on the outskirts of town, a motel with monthly rates. Somehow, someway he would come across some pretty woman who would find him fascinating, though she would be puzzled with his many deep, philosophical thoughts. He would treat her with kindness and even chivalry which would utterly delight her, but infuriate her ex-boyfriend who looked on from afar.

Sadly, after six or eight weeks the drifter would feel the urge to move on. He is, after all, a drifter and his very nature compels him to wander down the trail, or in his case, the highway. He would say goodbye to a few new, admiring friends, and bid a melancholy farewell to the enticing lady who would shed a tear as she watched this captivating man disappear out of her life, vanishing forever over the horizon.

In reality the life of a drifter is of course nothing like what I have described. It is anything but romantic, and it is without a hint of intrigue. Not that I would know, of course, for in truth I am a drifter in spirit only. But I’ll tell you, if the life of a drifter really were adventurous and romantic I would… naw, I’d still just be me; a guy daydreaming at his computer.