Read the Signs, Old Guy
Do I embrace or reject the label?
So I guess I’m old. I don’t feel old (well, most days I don’t) but when a younger person makes a reference to “an old guy,” there’s a more than average chance that that guy looks something like me.
In fact, lately there have been some signs that make it hard for me to ignore that label.
I’m 62 as I write this. In a few short months, 63. Neither is a significant number, like those ones that end in zero or five, but it is significant knowing that at my age I could start collecting Social Security. I haven’t yet, but the fact that it’s available to me is a little discomforting.
Several of my cousins have commented that when they see pictures of me now, they see my grandfather. I recently played some Irish music for a group of ladies and saw video clips of my performance and … yup. That’s Grandpa. Especially with the hat I was wearing. But Grandpa was old! Right? Guess how old he was when I was born? 62. My age. In those videos I also saw that paunchy stomach that my dad had. Ugh. I should do something about that. But why bother? It’s not as if I have any need to be “hot” again, if I ever was. (Somebody please tell me I was …)
I have always had a tendency to flirt, whether online or in real life (or IRL, as the kids would say, which is something an old guy would say). I’m…
