Growing Old(er)

I'm about to turn 62. Do you realize what that means? In eight years, I'll be 70. I'm not happy about it. I suppose I could turn it around and say that just 50 years ago I was twelve, but that doesn't really help much. I can't think of one old friend who hasn't asked me at one time or another, "Where has the time gone?" I'm asking it now.

I torment myself annually by figuring out what year high school seniors were born. The majority of students graduating in two months were born in 1997. They don't remember Reagan. They barely remember Bill Clinton. When Kanye West recently recorded a song with Paul McCartney, social media wanted to know who that old guy singing with Kanye was and if he thought he could ride the coattails of a true superstar. (Well, I don't think any of them literally said "ride the coattails of.") No wonder my Junes are so depressing.

It's like movies. To me, an old movie is anything before 1967. But I'm told that in reality an old movie is anything before the original Pitch Perfect. Movies in the 1960s are to kids now what movies in the 1910s were to me when I was 14. So I understand that. But still, hadn't pop culture progressed by far greater leaps and bounds between 1917 and 1967 than since 1967? At 14, I'd never have sat through a silent movie, but kids today still seem to enjoy Jaws and Star Wars.

But I'm digressing. My point is that for some reason, I haven't been aware of myself aging. I've just lived my life until, one day, yikes! I'm not 39 anymore, or yikes! I'm not 59 anymore. Maybe that's what a midlife crisis is -- stopping for a moment on a journey through life and making the mistake of looking back. I'm guessing most of us have done that at some point. It's when we realize, hey, this isn't where I wanted to be 10, 20, 40 years ago. What happened to those goals I had? Why aren't I satisfied with myself? I hear all the time that it's a guy thing, but I see nothing sex-specific about it. Anyone can reassess and have regrets. (But why does it seem to be mostly guys who buy that snazzy sports car?)

There's one way to note the passage of years that I almost never think about. When we meet a friend's 14-year-old whom we haven't seen since she was a six-year-old, we say, "I can't believe how big you've grown!" But what I, at least, never realize is that I'm also saying, "I can't believe how much older I've gotten." Kids are a kind of measuring device by which we can gauge our own maturity. If you're 50, and I haven't seen you since you were 40, I'm not going to hit my forehead and go, "I can't believe how old you've gotten!" That's not only because it's gauche, but because it's just not as noticeable to me.

I joined the Navy in 1971 and left when my four years was up. Had I stayed in and become a "lifer," I could have retired in 1991 at the ripe old age of 38. In 1971, that seemed like a lifetime. Of course, now I see that it wasn't even half a lifetime. When I was 18, that seemed the height of maturity. Then 19 did, and then 20. The fact is that for every age I reach, I'm the oldest I've ever been. Maybe that's why I'm always surprised to realize that I can get even older.

When you think back on your grade school friends, do you see them as they were then, or do they seem like miniature contemporaries of yours now? That's how they seem to me, like little 61-year-olds in kids' clothing. Actually, no -- they look younger than 61 because I see them the way I feel, which is never my chronological age. Right now I'd say I'm about 35. I can't honestly say I've talked about this with anyone lately who said they felt older than they were. I did hear such talk years ago, particularly from my mother, who often said, "Your mama's gettin' old, Vin." She'd been saying that since she was 35. She wasn't the only one among her contemporaries, either, so do you suppose it's a generational thing? Has the country's youth culture of jeans and rock and ball caps worn backwards convinced us we're never going to die?

Which brings me back to turning 70 in eight years. I can kid myself for now and say I'm in my "late middle age." But once I hit 70, that won't wash anymore, will it? By then it will be too obvious that my youth is far away and my "Great Reward" is somewhere around the corner. (Who coined that phrase, anyway? The same geniuses who came up with "riding the coattails"?)

One favor, though. Never call me a senior citizen. I spent too much time teaching students to avoid euphemisms to be labeled with one. "Geezer" will do. "Codger" also works nicely. But whatever you come up with, just be polite about it if I ever tell you to get off my lawn.