On Not Aging Gracefully

This is not me.

Image courtesy of graur razvan ionut

FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I really hadn’t given that much thought to aging, until a kid waiting on me in a store the other day
asked if the candy I was buying was for my grandchildren.

I almost grabbed him by the throat.

When I told one of my New York friends, he archly asked, “Would it be really bad if I said that's because you're in Texas and he just meant you look 24?”

He has a point. Aging has changed.

People used to reach a certain age – and it was young, 30 or 40 – and they’d make the switch to “being old.” Their clothes, their haircuts, their glasses would all scream, “Old.” Just take a look at old family photos.

As I write this, at the age of 48, I am wearing sneakers, jeans, a hoody and a Sex Pistols t-shirt.

And people did become grandparents at younger ages, since they became parents at younger ages. Having my daughter at 30 (admittedly in Manhattan) made me one of the younger moms in her class. And even in my son’s class (had him when I was 34), I was merely average.

Also, people are much more likely now to dye their gray hair. By the age of 50, it is common for half of a person’s hair to be gray – if they’re not dyeing it. But now, you don’t see it.

On the other hand, almost 70% of all adult Americans are overweight or obese. That makes people look – and move – as if they're older.

This would all be very confusing – if I thought about it. But I’d rather not. I’d rather just go by the age in my head (11) and I’d thank people, like the kid in the store, not to set me straight.