Now & Then: Twelve months of Now and Then (as if anyone cares)

It’s a tradition for the news media to review the past 12 months as a new year approaches. Some people are intrigued, others just yawn and turn the page.

I’ve decided to throw caution to the wind and submit my own year-end review, based on Now and Then columns from January to December 2025.

January featured a column on life as a race against time, space and gravity. 

“Time is a friend to youth. A young man believes he can live dangerously because, after all, he’s going to live forever. … Then, after retirement, time takes a backseat. You don’t have to get up early or rush to meet deadlines. Well, except for all those medical appointments. And remembering when you’re supposed to take that pill.”

In February, I wrote a memory piece about the Greensboro food distribution warehouse where I worked in the ’70s. The old building had been demolished, leaving the concrete pad. 

“All those memories flooded my brain as I walked what was left of my beloved warehouse. But that was 50 years ago, never to return.

“And when I looked up, instead of metal storage bins and fluorescent lights, I only saw white clouds floating in a blue sky.”

A March column talked about my realization that I’m not a salesman. 

“I couldn’t peddle rocking chairs at a senior community. I’d fail as a hot dog vendor at Coney Island. I’d lose my shirt in the clothing business.

“But at least I know my limitations. 

“I learned at an early age that I feel uncomfortable trying to convince people to part with their money, even for something they really want. 

“Are you sure you want to buy this? Maybe you should sleep on it. Do your research before you decide. Don’t call me and I won’t call you.

“Or something like that.”

In April, I wrote about an exhibition basketball game held at Asheboro’s McCrary Gym between the McCrary Eagles and the UNC Tar Heels. By the end of the season, the Tar Heels were the undefeated national champions and the Eagles had disbanded. By the way, the final score of that Dec. 1, 1956, game was UNC 84, McCrary 70.

Lemons was the subject of a May column, as in Fords, GMs and Chryslers, “even Toyota found its way onto my list of sour fruits.” I had somehow found lemons amongst all those makers of fine automobiles.

“The old saying goes, ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.’

“I’ve had enough lemons to make gallons of lemonade. And I’ve memorized the recipe. Just start with an old clunker …”

I wrote about a day in the life of a curb hop at Melvin’s Drive-In in June. 

“I checked into the curb booth at 4 o’clock on a Friday. I slipped on one of those disposable paper hats shaped sort of like an upside-down boat. Then I grabbed an order pad and pen, ready for a long night. …”

“I learned the hard way how to drink a Coke,” was the opening of a July column. “Or, more specifically, how to burp while drinking a Coke.”

For a less-than-5-year-old, that’s quite a lesson.

Secrets of the Night in August told about the time as a boy I stole out of the house during the night to join the older boys camping in the neighbors’ woods. In this case, loose lips revealed my secret.

In September, I admitted that I had been “a teenage hotrod fraud. … My knowledge of carburetors and superchargers when I was young compared to my awareness of feminine fashion.”

“Do you need a ride?” was the question that led to an October column. “It was a question I hadn’t heard in more than 60 years when I was a college student.

“In the late 1960s, I would leave the last class of the week, grab my suitcase and walk to the main intersection of town. Standing on the curb, I stuck out my right hand, thumb extended. Soon a car stopped and the driver asked where I was headed.

“ ‘To the interstate,’ I said. “ ‘Jump in.’”

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I wrote “Never underestimate the value of sweet potato casserole,” especially when you have the mumps.

In December, I wrote about how favorite baby names change over the decades. Mary and John were favorites in 1925. Now, 100 years later, it’s names like Aurora and Liam.

Well, that’s another year wasted. Let’s hope for better in 2026.

■ Larry Penkava, is a writer for Randolph Hub. Contact: 336-302-2189, larrypenkava@gmail.com.