Scouting the Hill of Old Age

I need to come clean about something. I think I inadvertently misled a lot of people who read this column with a comment I made a week or two ago. I said something to the effect that I was nearing the age of 40. Since then I’ve received several comments about turning 40 as well as at least one happy birthday wish. Allow me to clear this up.

I’m actually 25-years-old.

Ok, just kidding. I’m 37. So when I said I was nearing 40 I meant it in the broad sense but I’m not actually over the hill yet. In my defense, I spent the majority of last year thinking I had turned 38 so I thought I was closer to 40 than I am.

I have a theory that each kid you have adds five years to your age and if that’s true then I’m in my seventies. All this age stuff is “just numbers” anyway, right?

There are other signs that I’m indeed nearing 40 though. I have a (dignified?) speckling of gray in my beard. I relate to the parents in the Zits comic strip instead of the kid. Also I’m reading comics in the newspaper.

These indicators (warning signs?) sneak up on you.

Despite secretly thinking I would remain ageless, the most powerful signs that I’m not are the physical health differences between me and my kids. I’ve injured myself playing marbles and am sore from such rigorous activities as walking, sitting, and sleeping.

Seeing the way the kids bounce back from everything from illnesses to injuries marks and even starker contrast. I injured my shoulder throwing a baseball seven months ago and after a lot of physical therapy I’m finally feeling better. The 10-year-old separated his shoulder falling down a flight of concrete steps and got a clean bill of health from the orthopedic doctor two weeks later. It’s not fair.

It’s not all bad though. With the benefit of age I can avoid some injuries (like those caused from running down concrete steps like a cheetah) and knowing I’m not going to recover fast is a deterrent from overdoing things too.

Plus, if I hit pause on complaining about aging long enough, the aches and pains that come with it are a different kind of reminder about getting older that we often overlook: it’s an unguaranteed privilege.

It may come with ailments and difficulties, but there’s a reason the “hoary head” has historically been shown deference and respect in strong cultures. Getting older can’t only be about limitations and decline then.

I may not be 25 anymore, or even know how old I am, but I’m a long way from garnering the respect of the elderly. If I make it there, and despite our youth centric culture, I hope I still recognize the good things of being older.

And that there’s a little bit of respect for the aged still out there.