Post Scripts: Borrowed time

In about six weeks I will have taken another step in the twilight zone, another birthday that solidifies my eligibility for social security and all the other benefits, rights, privileges and stature of a senior citizen. I am guilty of having said in the past I wouldn’t be caught dead at 84. I realize I made a mistake because I will soon celebrate birthday number 85.

I’ve been lucky so far, but one of these days I will depart on that Great Adventure for which there is no round trip ticket.

It isn’t that my birthdays come as a surprise. I’ve been aware for 20 years I’ve been living on borrowed time. Some years ago I even joined the AARP, hoping I might develop greater interest in aging and acquire senior citizen attitudes and goals. There are times I am not sad about getting older. My pattern of life seems to point to the advantages of leaving the mainstream, where I can be channeled into a smaller tributary where the current is not so swift.

This doesn’t mean I do not expect to confront obstacles. I have a feeling my responsibilities could be replaced with frustration and even a few humiliations. As I have observed elderly friends over the years, I became convinced the period between here and the hereafter is not an easy transition. I am surprised, however, how fast senior citizen status came upon me. Age creeps up so quietly and casually it almost comes as a shock when you finally realize it has happened. Maybe that’s why some of us are never quite ready to accept it. I can tell you in all honesty I have been somewhat rebellious about accepting it.

I regret my own attitude at times I fret about the slow-moving elder driving in front of me when I am in a hurry. I am truly sorry I was not a better listener when an older person wanted to tell me about a trip he or she made, their grandchildren, Social Security, their aches and pains—even their surgeries. To be perfectly honest, I’m almost one of “them”.

I grew old so suddenly. I looked in the mirror one morning while shaving and became aware my whiskers were gray and I had wrinkles. My four o’clock shadow had been replaced by funeral parlor fuzz. I began to notice my once well-toned muscles had a tendency to sag and bulge. My forehead has become wider. I look at girls and sigh. It hit me hard! I have grown old and I still can’t recall when I crossed the border!

These days when my courage sags and my confidence lags, I think if my past. I search for some kind of yardstick with which I measure my life. My wife of 60 years, Kathy, who still has a couple of years to go before she reaches what I call the “twilight zone,” thinks I have accomplished a lot, but then she has always been the optimistic one. Yet while my life has been no stranger to heartaches and adversity, I must admit it has been good. Considering the inequalities of a man’s capabilities, the Good Lord has been mighty considerate of me.

There is no question I have a far more benevolent attitude toward others today (with the exception of bureaucratic fools) and if I had to do it all over again I would have done a few things differently.

So, suddenly, and not so suddenly, I am old. Not necessarily because I feel that way but because society labels me that way. It has caused me to be more aware of the young, the old and the in betweens. I observe the very old and know I may join them, perhaps sooner than I think. I may have to learn to put up with monotony if I live much longer and I’m not sure I can accept that.

But don’t reserve me a seat on the OATS bus yet. There are still things I must do and places I want to see. I hope I have time to do some of the things that aren’t good for me because old age ought to be livened up considering the limits of Corn Flakes, Preparation H and Geritol. A little rebellion can relieve one’s tension.

I hope all wage-earners will work hard and continue to pay into the Social Security system because we oldsters know a good thing when we see it. As the old fella’ said: “If I’d a known I was gonna’ live this long, I’d a taken better care of myself.”