I Guess I Am Old

I joke about being old a lot. I turned 50 this year. I might be a curmudgeon. But I don’t feel old. My body doesn’t hurt, nor am I sore all the time. I can’t predict the weather with my joints. I don’t groan when I stand up. I don’t complain about kids these days. I’m pretty good with new technology. I don’t feel much different than I did 10 or so years ago. In fact, that difference is in a positive direction.

However, none of that changes the fact that I am old. It became official today. I was Christmas shopping, as I do every Christmas Eve. I brought my stuff up to the counter to pay. The woman started scanning my items and said to me, “Is your granddaughter into these?” Yes, granddaughter. She looked at me and assumed I had a teenage granddaughter. Not kid. Not niece or nephew. A grandchild.

I didn’t know quite how to respond. I wasn’t insulted or indignant. I was just a bit taken aback. So, I simply said, “Yes.” The clerk said she liked them, too. (I’d guess the clerk was college age.) The rest of the transaction was the usual chit-chat. Very pleasant. I paid, thanked her, and left.

I can’t stop thinking about being labeled a grandfather, though. I’d love to be a grandfather, some day. My kid is only 14. I don’t want him having a kid of his own any time soon.

I guess I just look a lot older than I feel. My beard is mostly white. And the hair on the top of my head is mostly gone. I don’t necessarily see it when I look in the mirror, though. I guess I’d better get used to it. This probably won’t be the last time.