The youngest generation in our family is turning thirty years old–time to act like a grown-up. It seems each time we change the first number in our age, it changes us.
When I was a teenager, many advertisements began, “After forty…” like it was the beginning of old age. My parents, who were in their forties, farmed every day and danced on Saturday nights.
During the summer that I was approaching fifty, I received an invitation to join AARP. I accepted and so did my friend, Joyce. When the two of us spent a week-end at a writer’s workshop in northern Wisconsin, we received our first senior citizen discount–the motel where we stayed gave 10% off to members of the organization. After returning home, I asked Mom, who had faithfully kept a baby book about her only child’s accomplishments, “Do you want to use that as the final entry?” She didn’t think I was funny.
Last spring, our youngest joined his sister in the sixties age bracket. I’ve noticed many ads on TV about health such as getting vaccines are geared to those over sixty.
The year I hit another benchmark, our son asked, “What’s it like to be seventy?”
I responded, “A lot depends on your health. This morning, I walked to the store and purchased two bags of groceries. As I crossed the parking lot on my way home, I saw your old high school coach who was having trouble exiting his car, which was parked in a handicapped space. He’s about my age but it was an effort for him to hobble into the building.”
My cousin, Sis, who was twelve years older than I was had been one of my mentors. When she turned eighty, I phoned to offer congratulations. Her response, “Eighty isn’t old.” The widow continued living alone and driving. Her gift to herself was a newer, used car. Her phrase has been my mantra for the past six years.
How do you handle the milestones in your life?