At some point I must have passed some imaginary line which precipitated a change in my appearance and the way that others perceive me. I’m not sure when it happened. There were no flashing lights. No blaring horns. No ringing bells. Confetti did not fall from the sky. There wasn’t even a band. People just treat me differently. It wasn’t a religious thing . . . a dark night of the soul gig . . . no wandering around in the wilderness . . . no heavenly choir or descending dove. It was not an epiphany of some sort.
Apparently, it just happened. I’ve been baffled ever since.
I noticed it last week while the wife and I were up north visiting our grandchildren and their parents. My children were treating me differently. Showing concern. Dropping subtle hints. There was an air of empathy. The first time it happened was when I attempted to stand up from the couch. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I must have groaned as I stood. I was asked, “Are you okay?” Well, yeah! Considering that all the furniture that my children have equipped their homes with is that modern stuff that sits low to the ground. Whenever I sit on one of their couches my caboose is lower to the ground than my knees. The human body was not designed to be dragging butt. It is not easy getting up and out of those couches. It takes some finagling . . . some superhuman effort, and yes, a little groaning.
Yes, I am fine!
Over the several days I was up north I got asked that question numerous times each day. “Are you okay?” For the most part I let it roll off my shoulders. Ignored it. After a while . . . well, it started to irritate me. Grind on me. While the wife and I were in the backyard of one of our children’s homes playing with the dogs . . . I snapped. Tripping over a clump of grass my wife asked, “Are you okay?” Something inside of me snapped and exploded releasing an avalanche of words: “Dammit! Yes, I’m okay. If I get asked that one more time, I’m going to scream!”
Oops! I guess I blew that. But enough was enough. The wife placed the stick on the camel’s back that broke it.
Since them I have been wondering when I crossed over that imaginary line of decrepitude. I just don’t remember crossing it. Seems everyone else has recognized it. I missed the memo. I guess everyone has decided to let me know. So, I ponder . . . what the hell is going on?
Okay, I will admit that for some reaching the age I have reached is grounds for having crossed that imaginary line of discrepancy. Yes, I have aged. We all do. I can accept that and all that comes with it. It’s all there . . . greying hair (of what hair is left), failing eyesight, a Dunlop over the belt, slower reaction time, selective hearing loss, achy bones, sore joints, drooping butt. Yes, it is all there. And, if I allow myself to see it there can be no denying it is there. Yet when I look in the mirror the inner me doesn’t see the aging old fart. Nope! I still see Brad Pitt. Maybe delusion is a part of aging. But even Brad Pitt is aging. Despite it all . . . I’m okay!
Maybe it is the word “retirement”. I guess people see that as a sort of “being put out to pasture before heading off to that heavenly meat packing plant”. A person hits retirement and people treat you differently. They call you “sir”. When opening a door you are told, “Let me get that for you, old fellow.” You get senior discounts and restaurants give you “senior portions”. You’re encouraged to play pickle ball. Gifts of books are in large print. People remind you that Lawrence Welk is on PBS every Saturday evening. You get spoken to louder because everyone knows that once you hit 40 you’re hard of hearing.
“Retirement” is not a death sentence . . . not even a conviction of “old age”. It is just a cairn marking a place on the journey of life. And, yes, I’m okay!
I am okay. There is no need to have an ambulance on speed dial. There is no need to have a hotline to the doctor. My AARP membership is good for another five years. I have not been put on the endangered species list. My orthopedic shoes are in a box, on a shelf, in the closet. I don’t need hearing aids—at my age if it is worth listening to, I hear it. I can still tie my own shoes, button my shirts, and wipe my butt. I mow my yard. I shovel the snow. I can have coherent conversations. I can play with my grandchildren. I tease with the best of them. And I eventually even remember why I came into a room. Sure, I moan and groan once in a while, but my pains let me know that I am still alive.
Despite my inner self lagging several decades behind my outer reality. I’m still here. It is okay if the world can’t see Brad Pitt when they see me. People don’t see me when they look at Brad Pitt. It is their loss, not mine. I am not delusional. I’m way past the mid-life crisis point in my life . . . at least I hope I am because I cannot imagine living life at 132 years old. I still have the love and affection for my wife that I first had when we fell in love. I love my children, though they wear me out with the constant “Are you okay?” My grandchildren are the best and I can throw frisbee all day for my dogs. And none of the food I eat has been put through the blender. I still have my own teeth. I’m still here! I’m okay!
If there was some imaginary line, I crossed over that warranted a change in how people see and treat me . . . well, I missed it. I apologize to those of you that are offended that I’m living up to some unseen expectations. It just ain’t going to happen. You get what you get. I am who I am. Better or worse (ask the wife). That is all there is.
Maybe John Prine said it best in his song, In Spite of Ourselves:
In spite of ourselves
We’ll end up sittin’ on a rainbow
Against all odds
Honey, were the big door prize
Yup, I’ve come to accept myself for who I am, where I am, and who I will always be. I’m the big door prize no matter what anyone else thinks.
I’m okay!
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