Believe it or not, I used to be rather cool, which was before you were born probably, but

I have pictures.

I was a loaf and anachmatic, unsmiling, and I liked the monosolabic.

Someone said it's a beautiful day today, I said, right.

That tone, irony.

My dad was a friendly guy who always made small talk with clerks and waitresses, oh, how's

it going then?

But I found this embarrassing, and I stood apart from him so people wouldn't know we were

related.

That was long ago, and a person learns by experience, and now I'm so far from cool I

wouldn't know if what I saw it.

I'm an advocate of cheerfulness, I believe in good manners.

I like making small talk, just as my dad did.

6 a.m. at the Minneapolis St. Paul Airport, a February morning, long lines of sleepy travelers

snaking their way towards security, and I approach the scanner and a TSA lady sees

that I haven't removed my shoes, and she says, you're not over 75, are you?

And I say, darling, you've made an old man very happy, and she smiles and says, my pleasure.

I go through the scanner and a TSA guy pats down my back and under arms, and I say, are

we having fun yet?

He says it's a laugh a minute, two little exchanges, two moments of fellowship.

I'm old enough to remember the pre-terrorist time when you walked uninterrupted to your

gate, no questions asked, and now long lines of flyers laden with baggage, listen to

...