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Am I Getting Old?Am I getting old? Naw, it can't be that. I must be paranoid. But strange events keep happening to me. Things that seem to say you're getting old, you're getting there faster every day and one day soon, you will have arrived. But that can't be true. I'm as immature now as I was at 18. But still, things happen that make me wonder.A few years ago, I hired a pretty young thing as my receptionist. She was one of those rare women who was both absolutely gorgeous and also friendly. She didn't dress as if she were dying for attention and then become offended when a male gave it to her. She actually liked talking to guys. She was odd that way. But very popular. I had been drooling over her ever since she arrived. One day I found out her father was younger than I am. That caused me some pause. But only briefly. A little while after that, she and I were talking again. She had four earrings in one ear and three in the other. So we were talking about those earrings and it moved to body piercing. She mentioned she had a belly button ring and then pulled up her shirt to show me. Flat, tanned young stomach with the sexiest little silver ring I had ever seen. I wasn't able to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the day. I might as well have gone home. I was worthless. Would a young man have been so shaken? Sure. Probably. You think? On a different occasion, I was talking with a couple of other men near my age (no one, it turns out is ever quite so old as to be equal to my age). Another very attractive young receptionist joined in. We had been talking about John Kennedy's assassination and where we each were at the time. Her first response was Ted Kennedy's been shot? What bothered me most was, upon hearing Kennedy was shot, she didn't even assume we meant Bobby. She wasn't alive for either John or Bobby's assassinations. She didn't know Ted had had any brothers. Just because she didn't know her American history, that doesn't mean I'm getting old, does it? More recently, I hired a bright young man right out of college to be a data analyst for me. He and I were traveling in Southern California on business, driving a rental car to our meeting. I had gone to university in the area and mentioned, as we drove past the I-10 freeway, that I used to take that freeway to school when I was a freshman. He asked me when that was. When I told him, he looked at me and said, both surprised and pleased with the coincidence, That's the same year I was born. Much to my regret, I narrowly missed a concrete pillar. I've got kids. They have friends. When my kids pass through puberty, I don't have a problem. But when my kid's friends pass through puberty, some of them get hot. Really hot. And it is just too, too weird to drool over someone your rational mind knows is the same age as your impossibly asexual and innocent daughter. And then to have them call you Mr. McCullough while you're fantasizing about them. There is something wrong with this picture but I can't quite put my finger on it. And, of course, it also takes the wind out of your sails to be in a restaurant or store and have a lovely young thing wiggle up to you, tight, short skirt, long legs, full red lips, blouse buttons screaming for mercy and say Can I help you, sir? Has ever one word in the English language been so brutally wounding? Sir. I've come to hate that word. I also don't think it's a good sign that, whereas I used to need to blow dry my hair after my shower, now I'm hesitant to even put a towel near it. My hair's so thin, it air dries before I reach the mirror. I have to add water to comb it. Since I'm not Jewish, the built-in, pink yarmulke is not the fashion statement I'm looking for right now. Of course, having the top of my head sunburn whenever I take a walk, turning my pink yarmulke bright red, is also not such a good thing, I think. But does it mean I'm getting old?The other day, I walked into our kitchen before showering. My hair, what there is left, was a mess, sticking out in various directions. Our youngest daughter takes one look at me and says You look like a rock star from the 80's. I thought that was a compliment until I realized that, for her, from the 80's meant ancient. I'm so old, that I was already old during a decade my daughter considers ancient history. The mind swims. The coup d'grace, the final nail, if you will, was when I it dawned on me that what I was looking at each morning in the mirror was both my past and my future. Every day, I climb out of my bed, go the bathroom, wash my face and look up into a large mirror. I have historically been a skinny guy. A wimp. What once was my only physically attractive attribute, my six-pack stomach, has somehow miraculously turned into the entire keg. I have grown an exact replica of my father's belly. My past is becoming my future. And I'm afraid I must admit, I'm not paranoid. Children are running the world. I am getting old. MACRO CONSULTING |
