Age without wisdom
I have a birthday coming up, and I realize it’s too late to grow old with dignity. It’s difficult for a fumbling, uncouth loudmouth to grow old with dignity. The U.S.S. Dignity has sailed out of the harbor. I haven’t behaved in a dignified manner, and it’s too late to start now.
They also say, “With age comes wisdom.”
I’m still waiting. I might have been standing in the wrong line. I get older, not wiser. If anything, I may be getting stupider (editor’s note: more stupid, stupid!).
I’m supposed to be patient, too. Wrong! As I write this, I’m angry at the microwave. It’s not nuking my spaghetti fast enough.
Side note: I would never pull food out of the oven without an oven mitt, but I frequently try to grab a dish from the microwave without protection and burn my fingers. Meanwhile, the bowl is 1,000 degrees, and the spaghetti inside is stone cold. That’s why I’m angry at the microwave.
But I digress, like I do. I’m not growing old gracefully, either. I’m far too much of a klutz to have any grace. I don’t do anything gracefully.
I can’t even sing “Amazing Grace.” I’m off-key. When the people in the pew in front of me turn around and glare, I shut up and mouth the words. If you see a mime in the back row of the church, it’s usually me. I’m just miming the words of the hymns; I’m not trapped in a box or pulling an invisible rope. I don’t want to get kicked out.
I am growing old without dignity, wisdom, patience, or grace, but I am getting older.
According to a new study, scientists have found that humans age at a molecular level in two accelerated bursts – first at the age of 44 and then again at 60. I was an early burster. My hair went salty and peppery at 30 and started falling off my head at 40.
P.S. Ignore the ancient picture of me at the top of this column. George Eastman took it on the first Kodak. I would love to have that big, messy head of hair again.
There’s a cartoon of two guys walking into a bar, and one turns to the other and says, “There’s some old guys over in the corner.” His friend says, “That’s a mirror, Frank.”
I’m with Frank. In my head, I’m 20 years old. Twenty-five tops!
I’d get away with thinking I was decades younger, except when I bend down, I make an involuntary “oof” noise.
There is only one alternative to aging, and this year in particular, I stood too close to that abyss. I may not do it with dignity, wisdom, patience, or grace, but I’m glad to wake up every morning and smile.
Carl Reiner said, “The first thing in the morning before I have coffee, I read the obituaries. If I’m not in it, I’ll have breakfast.”
I’m sitting here eating half-microwaved spaghetti and counting my blessings.