Getting old isn’t all bad news. For the first time, come Saturday, I will be eligible for a 20 per cent discount at Shoppers Drug Mart (at least, on the last Thursday of every month). As well, there’s an enticing 10 per cent seniors’ discount at Best Western hotels.
Such mega-perks come to those 55 years and older. Which will be my age tomorrow. On this birthday, I will officially become a senior citizen … at least in the eyes of Shoppers Drug Mart.
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
Just like Sting, Chaka Khan and Stephen Harper, I am a baby boomer, born between 1946 and 1964. And in addition to Hoovering up all the world’s resources, good jobs and pensions like a Dyson cyclonic vacuum, we baby boomers mostly love to pretend we’re not old.
We will say, “50 is the new 30” and such. If someone raises an eyebrow, we change it to: “That is to say, 50 is the new 40.” And, if a teenager enters the room, we ask them what twerking means.
To cheer myself up about impending geezerdom, I sought articles that would convince me being old is, in fact, being young.
There was a good one from The Information Daily. It says new research suggests middle age now begins at 55, which is “much later than previously thought.”
True, “middle age” doesn’t sound exactly young. But it does sound better than “Congratulations on qualifying for the senior’s discount at Shoppers Drug Mart.”
But it turned out that the research cited in The Information Daily was merely a survey of people age 50 and older. So it’s no surprise they kidded themselves in this manner. Why, if you surveyed a group of 20-year-olds, they would say middle age starts at 30. And if you asked the Bieb or Miley Cyrus, they would say 25. And then Miley would start twerking.
Kidding myself about being “young” or “young at heart” or “perennially youthful in the way Dick Clark was before his untimely death” was just not going to work. Besides, younger friends and acquaintances were already calling me Old Man Chamberlain and making jokes about absorbent, disposable undergarments (which actually sound comfortable and convenient).
So, instead of fretting, I started to embrace my nascent geezerdom. For instance, how about those mobility scooters used by senior citizens? Doesn’t riding them seem rather fun? Imagine zipping around people on sidewalks. Not in an irresponsible manner, like those scofflaws in Sidney, but in a puckish, catch-me-if-you-can way.
Another advantage to being a senior: fashion no longer matters as much as it once did. You can walk around in faded track pants and a T-shirt that says: “Old people rock.” And people will think you’re cute, in the manner of John McCain or Redd Foxx.
Also, being older allows you to play helpless in a way a young person cannot. Suggestions such as, “Can you help me program my Apple TV?” or “Can I have your bus seat?” or “What’s twerking?” will be met with smiles and nods rather than the sort of cruel verbal and physical retaliation many of us associate with high school. At least, those of use who grew up in Nanaimo.
This week I listened to Neil Young’s Harvest disc. It contains the song Old Man, in which Neil taunts a geezer by singing: “Old man look at my life, I’m a lot like you were.”
Darn, I thought. Now I’m the old man. Saddened by the cruel and inevitable passage of time, I shared my thoughts on Old Man with my wife.
“Well,” she said, “you’re certainly younger than Neil Young is.”
That’s true. Neil is 67! This cheered me up immensely. So I put on my old man cardigan and made myself a cup of Red Rose tea.
