“Dammit, my car has been stolen!”

I recently celebrated another birthday, further cementing my status as a Senior Citizen. As such, I continue to set my own hours and take life at a leisurely pace. It’s wonderful.

That’s the challenge, isn’t it, finding leisure time, not letting things get in the way: part-time jobs, volunteering, honey-do’s. Just relax, be a Senior.

This Senior status allows me certain behaviors that I completely avoided, heretofore, and with good reason. As a Senior, I can let my eyes squint and mouth droop open when I’m idling at a red light.  There’s no need to tuck in my shirt or shave everyday. There are just some days when I say, “to hell with how I look”.  If my plaid shirt and plaid pants clash, it doesn’t matter, I’m not dressing for success now, I’m dressing to cover up and be decent.

Senior Citizenship comes with perks like discounts at restaurants and movie theatres and I unabashedly ask for them because preserving money is important, which explains why I cut my own hair. With the little hair I have left and its color, no one notices the uneven borders.

I’m allowed to say ‘huh’ and ‘what’ as often as I please. And if I wear a tie, it might not be a current style. Or, it might be a bolo, the western ‘string’ tie with a fancy ornamental clip. I get up to speed on medical issues and the latest in joint replacements just by having coffee with a few contemporaries.

Corny jokes get laughs, primarily from other Seniors, and I can tell the same joke a few days later because… well, just because.

My Senior status allows me to give advice to young people, and I do, even if it’s unsolicited. Some listen. I remember my dad gave advice and most of it turned out to be good advice*, if and when I listened.

Friendships become more important among Seniors. We support each other, laugh at each other’s foolishness and share our woes. Our spouse truly is our best friend, or maybe the dog.

Yup, Senior Citizenship is a rewarding phase of my life. By the way, I found my car, I always do. I was in the wrong aisle. Honestly, it gets ‘stolen and recovered’ more often with the passage of time.

“Now, where the hell are my keys?”

* see story, “My Father’s Pearls: A String of Old-fashioned Wisdom and Advice” 12/15/16

Steve
srbottch.com

To all my Senior friends around town, at the gym, in the neighborhood, there’s a little bit of this in all of us…