I Could Do Without The Disclaimers

I was talking with someone recently who seemed genuinely distressed by the fact that he was about to turn 26. I gave him my standard response to such nonsense: I rolled my eyes dismissively and said, “Oh please. I have tube socks older than you.” People seem to love that.

But, to be fair, I probably felt the same way when I was his age. “Now I’m closer to 30 than 20,” that ludicrous version of myself might’ve thought beneath the majestic Bobby Brady ‘fro. Then, for eloquent punctuation, I likely threw in a “holy shit!” At least that’s how the battered and grizzled current version would play it.

I recently turned 60 and feel just as distressed as Zygote Boy did for turning 26. However, I believe I’ve finally reached a point where it’s justified. I think I’ve now earned the “holy shit!” All those earlier “holy shits?” Premature and laughable. But nobody’s laughing now.

I was talking with my dad about this, probably on my birthday, and he said that when he was 60 he felt like an old man, but he doesn’t think I do. That kind of surprised me. He felt like an old man at 60? He and my mother have certainly embraced the oldster persona at this point, but it feels like it happened more recently than 21 years ago.

In any case, he’s right about me not feeling or acting old. I do not, in any way, feel old. Oh, I’m not as physically agile as I once was, but I blame that on being a fat ass, not an old codger. And I forget names a lot, but that’s nothing new; it’s something that’s plagued me forever. I have a good memory of events, but names and specific words sometimes elude me. I say things like, “And then he got into… one of those metal things? You know, they’re metal, and you drive around inside of them? Yeah, that’s it, a car!” But, again, it’s nothing new.

He also said that 60 is generally a happy time for people. “You’re approaching retirement, which is exciting. And you’re usually still healthy at that age,” he told me. “Your kids are out on their own by then, and it’s a good time of life.” We got started with our family later than my parents did, but he’s right about most of that. And I don’t really think of myself as old, not yet.

It's funny how your perception of what’s old changes as you age. Heck, I remember being in Junior High School and thinking 9th graders were so grown up and sophisticated I’d never get there. They were 15! I’m sure the 26-year-old views me as a dusty husk of what must’ve once been a viable human being. Like one of those spent cicada shells you sometimes see still clinging to a tree. He probably looks at me and it’s like something out of Re-Animator.

But I believe I’ve reached the tipping point. I might still seem young to a 94-year-old WWII hero, but for all intents and purposes, I’m “of a certain age.” And most of that perception stuff is out the window. It’s now undeniable.

I consider it a wonderful blessing to still have my parents at this age, and they’re both relatively healthy and vibrant, too. It’s not something I ever take for granted; I’m sincerely thankful for it. However, my dad is never one to blow smoke up anyone’s backside. Indeed, after he told me all those reassuring things, and made me feel a whole lot better, he tacked a little disclaimer on at the end. As he is wont to do.

He said something along the lines of, “But, at the same time, 60 is pretty darn old. There’s no getting around that. It’s much closer to the end than the beginning.”

Holy shit!

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