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I do not very often think about the fact that I’m getting older. (Don’t you just love those words – “getting older”? I have a hard time saying, “I’m getting old.” Somehow or another, the “-er” at the end of the adjective seems to soften its impact.) However, every once in a while, something happens that makes me confront my own personal aging process, and the fact that I am no longer young hits me with the subtlety and finesse of a nine-pound hammer.
For a while, I kidded myself into thinking that I was middle-aged.
Tain't so.
Look. I fifty-seven years old. I’m no longer middle-aged. I’ve checked the obituaries. Most people don’t live to be 114 years old.
Tain't so.
Look. I fifty-seven years old. I’m no longer middle-aged. I’ve checked the obituaries. Most people don’t live to be 114 years old.
Sometimes that revelation of my advancing age comes from seeing my rapidly withering countenance in a photograph. Other times, it comes from unexpectedly seeing my reflection in a heretofore unnoticed mirror. When that happens, I suddenly see my father or even my grandfather looking back at me. (When I inform Mary Ellen of this, she tells me that my father was an extremely handsome man. Isn’t she a sweetheart?!)
Most of the people that I hang out with are younger than me. Some are a lot younger. And a few of these folks have no problem at all pointing out that I am, in fact, much older than they are. Now, these same people would never even consider making fat jokes about friends who are overweight. Neither would they poke fun at friends with acne problems or buck teeth. But, I guess, age is easy and open target.
Last night, Mary Ellen and I were out in a pub with a large group of our friends. She and I were, as usual, the oldest people in the party. At one point evening, Mary Ellen got a text message from a friend of ours who is known for his sarcastic sense of humor. Mary jokingly texted him back, saying that if he didn’t leave her alone, she would sic me on him. His response was, “What’s Jim going to do? Sweat Geritol all over me?” (By the way, did you know that the word sarcasm comes from the Greek word, sarkazo which means “to tear flesh.”)
Yep. That pissed me off and hurt my feelings. And, much to my gratification, it also pissed off everybody else who was sitting at the table. My friends love me, and, with the majority of them, age isn’t even a consideration.
(Now, the fellow who texted that message is, in fact, a great friend. His humor just gets him in trouble sometimes because he pushes the limits occasionally. But, when you call him on it, he is immediately genuinely sorry and begs for your forgiveness. And that is what happened this time when I emailed him and told him that my feelings were hurt by his text message.)
So there I was, one minute having a great time with good friends, and the next minute I became very aware of my age while surrounded by all of these young folks, some of them almost thirty years my junior. I started thinking things like, Who am I kidding?I don’t belong here with these kids! Christ! Maybe I should just go home, wrap myself up in a comforter, get a glass of warm mild and rock myself to sleep in a rocking chair. (And I felt that way in spite of the fact that these folks enjoy my company and Mary Ellen’s company so much that we are invited to almost ALL of their social get-togethers, whether those functions are a night at the pub or a wedding. If we are not present at one of them, we get phone calls asking us where the hell we are.)
HOWEVER,
I hate the fact that I have to wear a hearing aid.
I hate having gray hair.
I hate the fact that I can no longer do many of things I could easily have done just a few short years ago.
I hate having people automatically “do” things for me because they figure that they’re helping the old guy out.
I hate having diverticulitis.
I hate having diabetes.
I HATE having to be careful with spicy foods (I LOVE hot peppers!)
I HATE having to be careful with spicy foods (I LOVE hot peppers!)
I thank God every time I get an erection , and am truly grateful that, as of yet, I have no use for Viagra or Cialis.
I hate having assorted aches and pains that I don’t even pay attention to any more because there I are so many of them, and they are so persistent.
I hate the fact that, even though every day I do at least a half-hour of rigorous, cardio exercise, fifty push-ups, one hundred stomach crunches, resistance/weight training on my Bowflex machine, and eat healthy . . . sort of . . ., age is still creeping up on me and taking its toll.
It’s true, getting old has MANY disadvantages. However, there are many perks that come with advancing years too. And I’ll talk about them in the next post.
