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When you, and Those Around You Can No Longer Deny You are Old
There are constant reminders.
Yes, I’m old. There is no denying that. Even those around me have stopped trying. I’ve talked before about how, as I’ve gotten older, cashiers have started referring to me as "honey, sweety, and dear.” No, they aren’t hitting on me, it’s just the condescension accorded what they deem an old, non-threatening man. And that’s okay.
I don’t want to come across as a gansta geezer.
Of course, it I call cashiers honey, sweetie or dear, I come across as creepy. But that’s a subject for another time.
The evidence keeps piling up
It wasn’t that long ago I would people, when seeing me say, “Hello young man.” At that point I would generally say, “Where?” and look around. It seems that at some point, calling an old guy “young man,” is the equivalent of calling a person in a wheelchair “Speedy.” Kind of insensitive.
At this point, even my mother doesn’t deny I’m old.
I’m reminded that I’m old even at the ballpark
I went to a ballgame in OKC Thursday night. And, as old men do, I went to regulate the amount of liquid in my body. Or as some people say, take a whizz.
