Last week The Shmata Queen and I had a conversation about some of the changes in our lives and how they seemed to sneak up on us. In particular it covered how we went from being the kids in the office to someplace in between that and the grizzled veteran.
Now you have to remember that the queen is much, much older than I am and as a result is a bit sensitive about her age. Being a smart fellow I was careful not to remind her that in a couple of years she’ll be 50 because she has one hell of a right hook. One of these days I’ll have to teach her not to drop her left because it leaves her wide open.
Anyway, the conversation was timely in that earlier this evening a good friend called and asked me when we got old. I laughed and told him that his punishment for working in television is to constantly be surrounded by utes.
But there is something to it, the conversation that is. I don’t feel particularly old but in certain settings I have really begun to notice it. Two recent examples:
During a meeting with clients they ask how my flight was which leads into a whole conversation about business travel and 9/11. We share stories. I relate how the day felt so surreal to me. I watched the news, saw the towers fall and watched as my son played with his blocks, oblivious to the events around him.
One of the women in the meeting smiles and says that she was in high school and then the other says that she was a freshman in college. Suddenly I realize that I am more than a couple of years older than everyone in there. On the one hand it is not that big a deal, I can still relate to everyone in there. On the other hand none of them are married or parents so they can’t quite relate as well to me.
In the end it didn’t prevent us from coming to an agreement but it did make me think about how fast the years seem to be going by. There is so much to do and so little time to do it in.
I hear you.
I notice my age most at concerts. Being surrounded by a crowd of 19-24 year olds can be a scary, annoying place!
Stacey,
Early onset of Alzheimers I see.
Miriam,
The knees always know.
Shira,
CD players are still cool.
Tell me about it–I’m an Israeli folk dancer by avocation.
My son never ceases to remind me what an old geezer I am, so out of touch with the latest technology. (I’m still using a CD player.) But when he rags me about my slang being so old, I rag right back: “Well, *I’m* old, so what do you expect? Get used to it.”
So there, ute!
Ms. Fifty-Eight-&-Counting
You can always be a ute in your heart.
But your knees know your true age.
Uhhh, excuse me. Last time I checked, we were the same age.