"Are You Sixty Yet?" by Liz Flaherty

"Are you sixty yet?"

I wish I'd grinned at him and said, "Just." But I didn't. I gaped and then I grinned and said, "Well past it, but thank you."

I usually forget to ask for the senior discount available in a lot of places, and I think servers and cashiers are reluctant to offer it because they don't want to insult anyone by (1) referring to their age or (2) being wrong about their age. They also don't want to open themselves to the flak offered up by people who don't even want their age noticed, much less acknowledged. I don't blame anyone a bit for not stepping into that particular fray. 

There are downsides to being well past sixty, many of them having to do with worn out joints, deteriorating senses, medical appointments, and pillboxes on the counter. Forgetfulness, slowing reflexes, and invisibility create fears not unlike the ones in adolescence, when it seemed as if no one liked you, everyone was cooler than you, and your parents didn't understand squat. 

With the downsides, there are sometimes tradeoffs. Losing people is incredibly hard, but having had them is like the sun rising and setting--it's a gift every single day. Generally retirement income is less. Sometimes the kind of less that means choices between food and medication, food and new shoes, food and rent. The discount that is often offered is both appreciated and, in some cases, necessary. While being invisible to so many can be hurtful, sometimes being left alone is a blessing. Privacy offers benefits.  

I have to admit, for some of the over-sixty crowd, age is open season for being rude, for feeling entitled, for disrespecting every demographic except their own. As much as I despise hearing Hey, Boomer, I sometimes understand the reason for it. I still remember the man standing in the express line at Marsh in Logansport with his full cart of groceries. He'd stood in line all his life, he said, it was "their" turn now. Behind him, on the feet I'd been standing on for eight hours, I didn't appreciate him a bit. I still don't. 

Just speaking for myself, of course, I don't think anyone's entitled to that kind of rudeness--even ones like me, who are...well, almost 60.

I know I've talked about age a gazillion times on this blog. I can almost hear there she goes again whistling in on the cool October wind. But mostly I just wanted to tell about Ed, the guy with the smile at My Pizza My Way, who said, "Are you sixty yet?" and made my day. I wanted to thank him. 

On the 25th, stop by Gallery 15 from 6:30-8:00 PM for a book signing with Debby Myers, Kathy Oldfather, Joe DeRozier, and me. Buy a book or two, listen to the readings at 7:00, peruse the beautiful art, and visit a while. 

Have a good week. Notice somebody--and be nice to them.