Getting older . . .

I will be the first to admit this. I am getting old.  I see it and feel it every day.  This is not so bad really.  I know it is inevitable and irreversible.  I appear older than I actually am chronologically. Thinking back, this has always been the case.  My voice deepened earlier than most other boys.  I grew a beard earlier than most in my class.  Appearing older than my age actually had some advantages back then.

When I was eighteen I had a sixteen year old girlfriend. When we could afford it, we liked to go to The Magic Pan in Ghirardelli Square, San Francisco.  We would order a dinner of crepes and a nice glass or two of white wine.  I guess she appeared older than she was also.  I did not abuse this ability to drink under age without being “carded.”  In fact I only did it a time or two with this one girlfriend. Maybe that time in the 1970’s was just a bit more relaxed as far as restaurants checking people’s driver’s licenses to see if you were legal drinking age.

Now, nearing 60, my one time red beard is close to white: OK, it is white.  I still look older than I am and older than I feel most of the time.  (But I have to admit that I am starting to feel as old as I look.)

Recently I was out shopping for household groceries.  I was in the checkout line of a natural food store in town.  This nice looking younger woman cashier was running the register.  We chatted a bit as she entered my purchases into the system. She told me the total and I ran my card to pay for it. Something about this seemed off.  My total was less than what I had been predicting in my head. Outside, I quickly dug out the receipt.  The entries looked right.  Then I saw it.  Down at the bottom of the receipt, I saw the words, “Senior discount applied- You saved this much money.”  What? Senior discount?  She thinks I am a senior?

This was traumatic at first.  Sure, I must be close to their senior discount criteria, and I know I have always looked older than I am. But do I look that old?  My inner youth screams in agony.

Now when I go to that store, I try to remember which one of the cashiers thinks I am old enough that I would qualify for their senior discount.  It is not much, but I find I want that discount.  But I must be getting old. I can’t even remember which one of them gave me the discount, and that was only a few weeks ago.