I readily admit, getting older is a challenge. Most days I can move along just fine because in my mind I’m the same guy I’ve always been. But every now and then I run into someone, who without trying to, reminds me of how old I am.
This phenomenon first occurred when I was a very young man working as a librarian. I was talking with one of the interns and I just happened to mention something about Elvis Presley. She looked up at me and said, “I’ve heard of him but he was popular before I was born.” Yikes, that comment slapped me in the face. But after that I started to take note of these types of remarks.
The next time I was similarly slapped I was with a group and a person mentioned Paul McCartney. This time I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to give away how ancient I was. Then a young girl said, “Wasn’t he in a band before Wings?” I will never forget that comment.
I have never been young, at least not in this life, so it isn’t fair to say I’m getting old. It is more accurate to say I am beginning to realize how many years have passed in this life.
I was at a meeting of the local museum volunteers and the woman who does the research for the “Remember When…” history column for the local paper came up to me and she said, “I was looking through the old newspapers for a piece on 25 years ago and I saw a story you wrote.” I gave her a strange look and said, “Oh that must have been my dad.” We laughed.
That has happened to me more than once. I had a young journalist approach me at a gathering and he said, “I was doing some research, hunting through old newspapers and I found an article you wrote. It was a good article.” I thanked him. But he wasn’t finished. He added, “It was written for the Santa Rosa News-Herald in 1976.” He didn’t need to add that.
Similar to a tree, it seems one can tell my age by the rings of work I’ve left behind.
I used to see these old dudes at the gym and they’d always be at the same locker. I wondered if they just got in a rut or what. Now that I’m one of those old dudes, I understand. I’m at the same locker every time too; it’s so I can remember which locker is mine.
The tricky part is that it all happens so gradually. I don’t remember when I stopped trying to lift heavy objects or climb trees. I can still get the garbage cans down to the street but someday soon that recycle bin is just going to be too big a load to make it safely down the incline of our driveway. I already have to take a switchback route.
I keep trying to fight this notion that I’m old but with less and less conviction.
Recently we were doing some heavy duty sightseeing in the city with visiting friends. After a full day of walking we jumped the bus and it was packed with people. Standing in the aisle near the front I kept reading the sign, “These seats reserved for the disabled and elderly.” I was tempted to ask one of the young kids to get up but I held strong. I’m not that old yet, right?
Gabriel A. Fraire has been a writer more than 45 years. He can be reached through his website at: www.gabrielfraire.com.
