I have been around for a while now, done a lot of things, lived a lot of lives, to be honest. But one thing that I became caught me by surprise. A thing that I never expected. Or planned for. I have become
a 70-year old man.
The standard line is yeah, ok, it happens. Well yeah, ok, it does. Be sure to tell yourself that when it’s your turn.
I have been lucky with my health. No major scares since my 20s. No major broken bones, even through sports and car wrecks. No major surgeries or organ failures. To be honest, I don’t much look like a 70-year old man. I’m active. I more or less eat clean, have for the past 15 years or so. Gave up my primary vices a while back. A spry old fucker.
I have avoided ossified mental routines - religion, ideology, network news, the usual suspects. I do my own analysis, come to my own understandings. Never have believed that I knew much of anything. That keeps you young(er).
But still, the kid has hit 70. wt actual f?
When I was a teenager, I laughed with old man Galloway when he said the only reason he went to church was to stare at Rita McCall while the choir sang Precious Memories. Suddenly it ain’t so funny.
Now, getting older isn’t all bad. I have seen most of it, and tasted a pretty rich buffet. I can spot a shyster from a mile away. I know everybody says that, but I actually can. I have learned to read those auras. It’s a function of age. And I will call you on your bullshit now. You gonna beat up an old man?
I don’t have to get up and go to work anymore. My kids love me, show me a modicum of respect. Share their worlds with me.
I run my own schedule. I’m writing this at 3:04 am. But, and it is a big one, I’m up at 3:04 am because I now sleep in 32-minute intervals. And getting up from them is akin to lifting a bag of gravel. I have little pains in places that didn’t used to even be places.
Then there are the joints - the knees and ankles sound like a midnight trainyard. I catch myself doing that old man turn of the head, you know the one that involves every muscle and limb while the neck remains rigid as a bridge abutment.
My shoulder chose medium discomfort as its default setting. Didn’t consult me.
I used to love food. Then it stopped loving me back. Or maybe loved me too much, hung on to my waist like a scared puppy.
I used to love to read. My eyes decided that was frivolity, said wear these or no dice. Now, reading a book is like deciphering an ancient scroll.
Sunlight was once sheer joy. Now it is sheer joy with an attached rash.
Sneezes? They arise out of nowhere. Waterspouts from an otherwise quiet sea.
And the mirror. Don’t get me started about the mirror. Who the hell is that guy, and who put him there? And where did I go?
Because I walk a lot, my legs look good - strong - younger than my 70 proud years. Not bragging, just how it is. The older women notice. I think the young ones probably do too. Then they see the full package and figure it’s either sugar daddy or retirement home for this one.
The Balkan girl at the register winks at me when I say mirëmbrëma (good evening). I puff up like a schoolboy. Then I remember I’m 70 and she’s in customer service.