Notes From a Screaming Mirror

60 is not the new 40. It is the old 60. As you can clearly see from the CIA World Factbook 2007 graphic at left, 60 is closer to the average U.S. life expectancy (78, or so) than it is to 40. If I want to think of myself as middle-aged, I will have to move to Canada or Australia where the average life expectancy is 80 or better. Sixty is equidistant from 40 and 80, so it is middle-age in those places (and a few others).

When I turned 50, I went through this brief period of feeling old because the AARP invited me to join them. I did, and they sent me all kinds of stuff. So did a lot of other places. After a while, I thought that I might need a second mailbox, but I learned a little trick that helped to cut my junk mail by lots: just put everything that comes in the unwanted envelope into its postage-paid return envelope, and then mail it back. The sender has to pay to receive their own junk, and the post office is happy because it gets to double dip.

Now, I’m 60 and I’m old. I looked in the mirror, and it screamed back, “Old!” My hair is in a race between gray and gone, my beard is salt and pepper (not cinnamon or paprika), and my eyes need decafocals. I am certain that the person who invented bobble heads got the idea by watching some recent old guy move his head around to pick just the right focal spot.

But, I am OK with this. My dad wasn’t, God bless him; but I am. One of the things that I learned watching him grow old was that he couldn’t do anything about it. He never really tried anything radical (Google ‘facelifts’ for a thrill), but growing old bugged him.