I know that I am not old in the grand scheme of things. “Old” seems to have a lot more to do with perspective than with facts or hard data on the subject. I will wait patiently, something that I acquired with time and by no means God given, God honed, or God infused, perhaps, but not natural to my good nature, but I will wait patiently for the inevitable comments to come about what a baby I am. In my brothers case of course I am an antiquity from the dark ages, but those comment have slowed down quite a bit since he crossed the forty something threshold. The point of this post is not however to quibble over how we define “old” but rather come to terms with the inevitable trap of age as it relates to time and perspective.
I will make it easy for you so there is no guessing involved. I was born on October 31 1962. That’s right; I was 2-3 years old before I knew my name wasn’t ‘Pumpkin’. Being born on Halloween had no other advantages that I have found. No, I am not embarrassed by it and yes the red-head has picked up on it. My brother, most of you know as Scooter, is six years younger than me. We have passed the lordy lordy forty barrier and I think we are both seeing life a lot differently than we did before. The down side of this new found wisdom is that ‘others’ see us differently too! Yea Scooter, I said ‘US’, deal with it!
This became blaringly obvious to me the last time Maureen and I took little Sara to see a movie. We waited in line until the 12 year old (what happened to child labor laws?) behind the bullet proof glass with her Brittney Spears headset on, called us forward. I took out my plastic money and said to the metal speaker, “two adults and one child, please”. I was immediately greeted with an expression only a teenage girl can make, you know the one, “DUH?”, and “which movie would you like to see sir?”. I looked at the red-head for conformation, what’s wrong with this girl, my shrug asked?, is she on drugs?...
Maureen just smiled to assure me I was having one of my time warp senior moments and looked at the child in the window and said, “Night at the museum”, as if that explained everything. WELL EXCUSE ME! Whose idea was it to put 32 movies in one building anyway?!? I know they have been around a while! I get it! What was I thinking?
Perhaps I was just remembering a simpler time. When the little girl behind the window didn’t call you sir and you watch the movie that was in town at the time. Change is good, I guess; keeping up is a bitch sometimes.
Just an observation…