SENIOR NETIZEN: YOU MIGHT BE GETTING OLD IF…

The other day I got old, and I’m not sure how it happened. I remember the birthdays going by, and I’ve noticed a gray hair here and there, but it never crossed my mind that someone would ever think of me as old. My boys and I were eating burgers at a local burger chain that the three of us enjoy. My wife doesn’t care for the place so my sons and I make it a point to go there whenever she is traveling.

The first sign of trouble came when I told the boys that I used to visit the same restaurant when I was a kid. No big deal, right? Well, this place is unique in that each table has a telephone that you use to place your order. My 12-year old was having trouble putting the handset back in the cradle because the cord was tangled. That’s when it hit me that he had probably never had to use a corded phone. Instead of just keeping my mouth shut, I told him that back in the day all phones were corded and most of them were attached to the wall.

And then I explained the rotary dial. Push-button phones hadn’t been invented yet, or at least not in my house. Very few people that I knew even had cable TV, and the one or two that did had to actually get up off of the couch to change the channel. My family had a black and white TV until I was 12. And VCRs? Who even had room in there home for one of the suitcase-sized contraptions? Certainly not us.

On the way home we passed a store that was selling ‘firewood.’ For some reason I decided to point out that it wasn’t really firewood, but rather artificial fire logs made from 100% renewable waxes and oils combined with recycled sawdust. Of course that didn’t mean much to them either because they’ve only experienced gas fireplaces with f aux logs and flames behind tempered glass.

But the clincher for me was when I told them how my dad and I use to drive the truck up into the mountains to get firewood each year. We would chop down a tree, cut it into smaller logs, and then haul it home where we would have to split it and stack it. My own jaw dropped as I heard myself explain that one. Did I actually do that? What, did I grow up on Walton’s Mountain or something? My kids have never even heard of Grandma or Grandpa Zeb, let alone Jim Bob, Mary Ellen, and the rest of the Walton clan.

By the time we pulled into the driveway I had realized that somehow, someway, I had become old. I didn’t necessarily feel old, but the facts as I had just explained them left no room for doubt. So I hobbled up the steps to the front porch, placed my thumb on the biometric door lock, and walked into our comfortably climate-controlled home. The lights automatically turned on as we walked in the door, and I was pleased to see that the robotic vacuum had been hard at work while we were away.

I sent the kids to their rooms to get dressed for  bed and I sat down in front of a computer to check my messages. Not the computer in the office, or the one in the bedroom, or family room, but the one in the kitchen (the small one, not the large one). When the pajamas were on and the teeth were brushed I sent the boys to bed. I knew it would be lost on them, but when they were both securely tucked away in their beds I turned off the lights and said, “Good night, John-Boy.”

Feature image from Flickr.

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