I'm not a historian, an anthropologist or a biblical scholar, but I imagine that ever since Adam woke up on the seventh day of creation and said, "Hey Eve, that light in the sky we had before that disappeared . . . it's back!" people have noted the passing of time. I wonder when birthdays caught on. I wonder if Adam and Eve celebrated their anniversary and how they chose the date. Maybe they made notches on a tree or rock or cave wall to mark the days and if a conversation could have gone this way:
Eve gives Adam an icy glare.
Adam: What now?
Eve: Did you forget something?
Adam: No. I made fire. I brought you a dead rabbit.
Eve: Thanks. You don't even know what today is.
Adam: (sighs) What is today?
Eve: Do you NEVER count the marks on the tree of love?
Adam: Tree of what?
Eve: It has been 100 marks since we first . . . you know . . . hid in the bushes. You could have brought me flowers to celebrate.
Adam: There are flowers all over this place. Why would I have to bring them to you?
Eve: You men just don't understand!
Adam: What "men," I'm the only one!
Eve: No kidding.
Birthdays are exciting when you're little. Your parents make a big deal out of your first few, before you can even understand why they're giving you a big plate of cake you're supposed to squish, topped with fire you're not allowed to touch. Then you start getting into it. Ten is a big one, the double-digits. Thirteen is another milestone; you're a teenager. Sixteen is huge--driving! Twenty leaves the teenage years behind, and we all know what twenty-one brings: lower insurance rates. Thirty is cute--"Oh, I'm so ollld, tee-hee!" At 31 it hit me that I was going to keep getting older. Forty is ok--you start to realize who you are and quit caring so much what other people think. Fifty. Ok, it's not funny anymore. When AARP sent me the good news that I was eligible for their services, my husband thought it was hilarious. The next year when he got his own good news, he got us a membership. It was a bit of a shock when they put Dennis Quaid on the cover of AARP magazine. An old person should be on the cover of AARP, right? But Dennis was 55. I heard one of my hips crack.
Here's the thing about aging: I don't feel any older. Wiser, maybe. At least I hope so. But other people seem to think I'm old. They treat me like I'm old. They call me ma'am and there's this weird lack of eye contact that says I'll be nice to you but we have nothing in common. I think to the under-30 crowd there's not much difference between 50 and 80. My 8-year-old grandson thinks his 30-year-old dad is old. I’m in a little shock myself that two of my kids are 30+. I wonder if 90-year-olds think 80-year-olds are young punks. I'm not exactly in denial about aging but I'm not going to go peacefully. I will ride my nerdy cruising bike with pride. I am determined to overcome my fear of Snapchat. I’m aware of my age, I just want to face it with a good attitude about the future, yet with the knowledge time and hard knocks have brought me. I'm proud to be 50-gulp-9. I've earned it. I've worked hard to get here so well-adjusted.
Now excuse me, it's time to rinse my pink hair.
Eve gives Adam an icy glare.
Adam: What now?
Eve: Did you forget something?
Adam: No. I made fire. I brought you a dead rabbit.
Eve: Thanks. You don't even know what today is.
Adam: (sighs) What is today?
Eve: Do you NEVER count the marks on the tree of love?
Adam: Tree of what?
Eve: It has been 100 marks since we first . . . you know . . . hid in the bushes. You could have brought me flowers to celebrate.
Adam: There are flowers all over this place. Why would I have to bring them to you?
Eve: You men just don't understand!
Adam: What "men," I'm the only one!
Eve: No kidding.
Birthdays are exciting when you're little. Your parents make a big deal out of your first few, before you can even understand why they're giving you a big plate of cake you're supposed to squish, topped with fire you're not allowed to touch. Then you start getting into it. Ten is a big one, the double-digits. Thirteen is another milestone; you're a teenager. Sixteen is huge--driving! Twenty leaves the teenage years behind, and we all know what twenty-one brings: lower insurance rates. Thirty is cute--"Oh, I'm so ollld, tee-hee!" At 31 it hit me that I was going to keep getting older. Forty is ok--you start to realize who you are and quit caring so much what other people think. Fifty. Ok, it's not funny anymore. When AARP sent me the good news that I was eligible for their services, my husband thought it was hilarious. The next year when he got his own good news, he got us a membership. It was a bit of a shock when they put Dennis Quaid on the cover of AARP magazine. An old person should be on the cover of AARP, right? But Dennis was 55. I heard one of my hips crack.
Here's the thing about aging: I don't feel any older. Wiser, maybe. At least I hope so. But other people seem to think I'm old. They treat me like I'm old. They call me ma'am and there's this weird lack of eye contact that says I'll be nice to you but we have nothing in common. I think to the under-30 crowd there's not much difference between 50 and 80. My 8-year-old grandson thinks his 30-year-old dad is old. I’m in a little shock myself that two of my kids are 30+. I wonder if 90-year-olds think 80-year-olds are young punks. I'm not exactly in denial about aging but I'm not going to go peacefully. I will ride my nerdy cruising bike with pride. I am determined to overcome my fear of Snapchat. I’m aware of my age, I just want to face it with a good attitude about the future, yet with the knowledge time and hard knocks have brought me. I'm proud to be 50-gulp-9. I've earned it. I've worked hard to get here so well-adjusted.
Now excuse me, it's time to rinse my pink hair.
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