I remember when my
darling mother was the age I am now and I suggested she visit
her local Senior Center. She was appalled. "Why would I want to
spend time with all those old people?" she said. I laughed. I'm
not laughing any more.
I know exactly how
she felt. I have dropped into my Senior Center from time to time-for
a computer class, a watercolor demonstration, an introduction
to Tai Chi-but I always felt like an interloper. Sure, the activities
are great, and the people there are all very nice to me; but I
simply don't belong. I'm much too young. Maybe in ten years or
so, I've been telling myself. But during one visit, I went into
the ladies room. Big mistake. They have mirrors in there.
It's just as bad when
a movie ticket seller or a store clerk automatically gives me
the senior discount. I love the discount, of course; but how come
they simply assume I qualify? I should have to ask for it, and
they should be incredulous and demand to see some ID. I'm not
unreasonable. I don't expect them to deny me entrance to an R-rated
film because they think I'm too young, but neither should they
automatically classify me as ancient.
When did this happen?
Wasn't it only just last week that Hollywood actually made some
movies suitable for children, and I used to get in for the child's
price (ten cents, I think it was).and the day before yesterday
that I graduated from college.and yesterday that I was the youngest
person at my first job.Now look at me. No, don't! Wait until I
turn the lights down a bit.
When did I get old?
I know when it all began-when I was a child, impatient to grow
up. I couldn't wait to start kindergarten with the big kids.to
go to junior high school (no middle schools back then).to wear
lipstick.to start dating.go to high school.all the time wishing
the months away until summer vacation. Then I wanted to be 16.get
a car.go to college! And I was just as eager to graduate and start
a career. assuming I'd be young forever-or at least for such a
long time that it would no longer matter. Then, before I knew
what hit me, I was young no more.
Sad to say, I never
learned my lesson. Instead of trying to slow down the clock and
enjoy the moment, I'm still impatient for future events. And my
friends are no help at all. One of them, knowing I hate winter,
keeps trying to cheer me up from November to March by saying,
"Don't worry; it will be spring before you know it!" I could throttle
her. Spring means another birthday for me.
But I'm not the only
one experiencing the race of time. It's an epidemic. When, for
example, did Gregory Peck, Paul Newman, and Kirk Douglas go from
being dreamboats to old wrecks? Not to mention those over-the-hill
ladies masquerading as Mary Tyler Moore (who, like me, was the
youngest person in her office), Elizabeth Taylor (that cute 12-year-old
in "National Velvet") and June Allyson (the perpetual teenager).
What's even scarier is that it won't be long before Meg Ryan will
no longer be cute and perky, and Matt Damon's smooth mug will
begin to look like the roadmap that was once Robert Redford's
gorgeous face.
The men, however, do
seem to have a better deal. Look at Kirk's son, Michael, for instance.
He gets to marry a beauty half his age, and few think it's strange.
If I went after a boy toy, people would smile indulgently and
have me committed to the nearest asylum. Which is okay. I wouldn't
know what to do with him if I caught him anyway.
I can't help but wonder
if Ponce de Leon ever actually found the fountain of youth. Could
be that he did, but has kept it a secret and is living in Miami
picking up chicks at South Beach every night. I hope with all
that high living that he doesn't exhaust the proceeds from his
Explorers 'R Us pension plan before the fountain runs dry or the
next condo developer plows it under.
If you're reading this,
Ponce, take heed! Bottle as much of that water as you can and
send it to a safe place----my house. Or if you don't want to do
that, could you at least poll the grandmothers of the girls you're
dating and recommend a good plastic surgeon who works cheap?
Rose Mula was an executive
assistant, a public relations specialist, and an operations manager
for a New England theater chain before discovering a passion for
writing.
Her work has appeared
in The Saturday Evening Post, Yankee, Modern Maturity, The
Christian Science Monitor, The Reader's Digest, The Philadelphia
Inquirer, The Baltimore Sun, and more than a hundred other
magazines and newspapers. Actually-thousands of newspapers, since
one of her essays, The
Stranger in My Mirror (originally titled, The Stranger
in My House), was reprinted in Ann Landers' nationally syndicated
column in 1999, and after an explanatory exchange with Ms. Landers, an attribution.
Rose's new book, If These Are Laugh Lines I'm Having Way Too Much Fun, is available at bookstores, through online bookstores, and from Pelican Publishing, 800-843-1724. The book was a finalist in USABOOKNEWS.COM's 2006 Best Books Award humor category. Meanwhile, she can reached
by e-mail.
