Age is Just a Number – Seriously

“Mrs. Felty,” a student called out during social studies class, “I’m going to dye my hair with grey streaks like yours. It looks cool!”

Exactly the look I was going for — cool.

Right.

I started growing out my “cool” grey streaks somewhere in my 30s and have added to the look ever since. My husband thinks the grey streaks look distinguished. I think he’s just softening the blow for me in coming to terms with aging. Since he started shaving his head years ago, I guess he’s missing out on all this “distinguishness” (I’m pretty sure that’s not a word).

They’re good at hiding it, but I just know my grown kids exchange looks of panic when I mention that I want to go white water rafting and hike the Grand Canyon. I even feel resistance when I mention that I plan to jump with the kids on the trampoline at the jump house. If I were to interpret those wide-eyed stares my kids share amongst each other, they would be saying, “It’s your turn to run interference with mom before she hurts herself.”

Sometimes I bring my daughter a Starbucks coffee (iced chai latte with cinnamon and extra heavy cream, in case you want to bring her one) to the pharmacy where she works. Naturally, I always have my own large iced coffee in my other hand. I’m sure I’m just being paranoid but I feel like all the elderly folks in line are staring at me and thinking, “That’s how my own diabetes started. Won’t be long before she joins us.”

It’s not that I mind the whole getting older thing — we all get there eventually. I just cringe watching everyone else try to analyze what planet I should be designated to. It’s like they think, “You couldn’t possibly walk around Disneyland the whole day without getting winded and needing to pop Tylenol every two hours to get through it.”

It’s hilarious, really. I am totally going to fake a heart attack the next time I’m in Walmart and have to pick up a large bag of dog food ALL BY MYSELF (being that I am getting old and all). The first unlucky person to reach down to help me will be yanked to the floor and tickled until they cry. Yeah, that’s a bit dramatic but the visual in my mind cracks me up.

Some of us took a little longer to decide what we wanted to be when we grew up. I, for example, decided to earn my GED and go back to college at 40, start a side business at 48, and write my first book at 50. Life kept interrupting my younger years with all kinds of unpleasant and annoying surprises that took priority in my life but I’m back on track now.

A youngER person actually asked me a few weeks ago if I have ever used those telephones that “have a round plastic thing in the middle that you stick your finger in to turn to dial in a number” (you know…a rotary phone). I grinned broadly and told them that, “Yes, indeed, I have. In fact,” I added, “they were so much easier than the two cups attached to a string that I had been using for years before that.”

Their shocked, blank stare is always worth it.

It’s OK, they’ll understand the humor when they get older.

Can’t wait to get this old and do this:

https://youtu.be/gblWyOlXVIY