AGING

I’m Old!

How About You?

This photo was taken when I was only 64.

I just turned 66. I’m old! A senior! Venerable! Entitled to respect! (And discounts!)

I’m happy to be Old. My mother died, too young, at age of 57. It breaks my heart to think of everything she missed by not reaching old age.

And yet when I proudly call myself Old, I’m met with resistance from my fellow seniors, including one colleague at the library where I used to work who, although she was older than I am, always insisted “I’m middle-aged!”

Am I middle-aged? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s unlikely that I’ll live to be 132.

I recently asked my Facebook friends: “Do you think of yourself as old?”

Their responses?

I’m 64, but I don’t consider myself old. My mother is 90. SHE’S old.

I’m 71, but I don’t feel as old as I did when I was 60. Go figure.

I don’t think about my age at all. Just happy to be here. Although sometimes I’m shocked when I look in the mirror.

I am 63 and I’m with you. We’re Old. Not “late middle-aged” or “the wrong side of forty” or any of the other idiotic terms we seniors use to avoid facing the truth.

Some of my Facebook pals equate “old” with “retired”: