Beep Beep, Beep Beep, Ya

By Jim Hagarty

Someone in a wee car behind me just honked his horn at me.

Correction. He beeped at me.

It was more a baby fart than a honk. Not even a big baby. And not even as loud as a tiny baby fart.

I miss the days when a honk was a honk. When you let out a big baby fart of your own when you heard it. When you thought there was a U.S. battleship behind you and not a Tinker Toy.

The days when a Honk for Jesus got His attention and He knew you really loved Him.

Nobody Beeps for Jesus, do they?

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.