Are You a Senior?

I went up to Hecla for two days of golf and some rest and relaxation. I have a good friend who owns a cottage up there. It is fun to get together with him. Enjoy some good food, golf, and lots of chit chat. It is interesting how talking with an old friend makes you realize how much your life has changed.

The first day up there we went to the golf course. It was absolutely pouring. With modern technology we were able to check radar and knew that the rain would end shortly. And end it did. The sun came out and it turned out to be a beautiful afternoon. What was somewhat troubling is, when I went to pay for my green fees, the person behind the counter asked whether I was a senior. Excuse me. A senior? Do I really look that old? I quickly looked around to ensure my buddy had not heard that. He was out of earshot. I politely said I was not. I paid and left.

The following day we went again. My friend paid and then it was my turn. Again. The question. Are you a senior? The same person too. It was like, hello. I was not a senior yesterday and I really have not aged that much. This time my friend was standing right there. He cracked up laughing. He got some perverse joy out of that. I knew I would never live that one down. And to think. He is older than me. Go figure.
This thing called aging is bad enough without others thinking you are much older than you really are. I have enough reminders without questions like that. Almost a year ago I became a father-in-law. This September I am going to become a grandpa. That means I am old. Or at least older. I was told last week that I had a poor memory. When I suggested it was because I had too much going on the person just looked at me and said age probably had something to do with it. I seem to groan a little more each morning when I drag myself out of bed. My aches and pains are worse. So I must be getting old. BUT I AM NOT A SENIOR.

When I look in the mirror I often see my father looking back at me. That may be good or not so good. What it is, is the significant lack of hair on top and what there is, is getting rather grey. When I compare myself to my parents, when they were at the age, I remember them being really old. I seem to want to go to bed much earlier than I used to. Have lost the ability to sleep in. Need to watch what I eat. There is the fiber thing. Watch the sugar intake. Was reminded again of my salt use. Health becomes more important. Exercise is imperative. And what’s with those lumps on my feet. So, yes, I am getting older. BUT I AM NOT A SENIOR.

In retrospect I should have said yes. It would have saved me a few bucks. Perhaps it would have eased the pain of knowing I am getting close to being a senior. The reality is we are all getting older. Some more graciously than others. As for me, I know I am not a senior. I have a new motto. I intend to live forever- and so far, so good. Oh, and you should know. The friend who laughed at me? I wupped his butt in golf. So there. Make it a good one.