Musings of a senior citizen

Turning 62 in the US
(Published 8/5/10, Manila Standard Today)

Life has changed for me ever since I became a bona fide, full-fledged, card-carrying senior citizen here in the United States. I’m embarrassed to admit I got to this point not in my usual logical, rational, methodical style. I arrived kicking and screaming, protesting to all who cared that “I’m not that old; I’m still relevant. I have years to go before I retire.” Yadayadayada. Which really doesn’t change anything. I’m 62. Game over.

The process of getting old is somewhat like losing a loved one. You move from denial to anger to sorrow, and finally, inevitably—to acceptance. One day you look at the face staring back at you from the bathroom mirror, the one with the droopy mouth, sagging chin and gray hair and you know the younger you has crossed over—permanently. Even John Edward and his pals from the “other side” cannot bring that one back. But it doesn’t mean paradise is totally lost. The game’s changed, that’s all.

Consider the perks.

Discount heaven. If you ride a bus, take a train, get on a flight, buy or rent a car, stay at a hotel, join a tour, see a play, go to a concert, buy season tickets to the theater or the ballgame, watch a movie, get your prescriptions, stock up on groceries, splurge on a new wardrobe – if you even as much as breathe, you get rewarded simply by admitting the sad fact that you have indeed reached the magic threshold of 62 years. With the plunging US economy (thanks as always, Barack), 10 percent off almost everything is not insignificant. Think about the contributions you can make to your grandchild’s GET account. “Shop here and save your 10 percent discount for future college costs.” Tugs at the heartstrings, doesn’t it?

And there’s more. You also get a discount if you want a haircut, a manicure and a pedicure, an in-house tan, and a few hours of pampering at your favorite spa. You get a discount if you order Chinese takeout, have beer and pizza delivered, go to a bar, and dine out every day of your life. Don’t worry if the unwanted pounds you thought were just there for a quick visit decide to camp out permanently on your belly, hips and thighs. You can take your pick from a dozen or so diet plans and health clubs that promise to make you lose 50 pounds so you can reclaim your youth and vitality. You might even end up looking like Raquel Welch who’s nearly 70 but looks like the bombshell she was 50 years ago. (Except for the teeth, which are just too large, fakey white and unnaturally straight. And—I forget which commercial—flirting with boys young enough to be her grandsons? Totally gross!)

Geriatric services. Getting old in the USA is almost like having a terminal disease. There are doctors and nurses and other medical personnel who specialize in it to help you cope with its gradual spread and prepare you for its inevitability. Early signs of the disease include thinning hair, hearing loss, memory lapses, reduced motor skills, frequent anxiety attacks, inability to tolerate rap music and similar discordant noises, and increasing dependence on your grandchild to program your TV and DVD player, Bluetooth headphones, digital camera, video recorder, Netbook, iPad, iPhone and its various apps. (When did life get so complicated?) Other indications to watch out for include an increasing dependence on your vehicle’s GPS to drive from your residence to your daughter’s home, all of five miles away.

If you don’t know what most of these devices are and couldn’t care less, it could mean one of two things: (1) your disease is far more advanced than suspected and there’s no known cure for it, or; (2) you’re just a stubborn old fool who thinks life was perfect before the dawning of electronic geegaws, Facebook, YouTube and other wachamacallits.

Life’s a joker. I remember when I was 10, 11 and 12, I couldn’t wait to be 13. Then I couldn’t wait to be 21, which was so close to perfect I wanted to freeze that time and inhabit it forever. Unfortunately, time does march on inexorably no matter how hard you try to pull it back. When you start receiving insistent mail from AARP and offers of funeral/memorial services and glossy retirement home brochures flood your mailbox, you know it’s all over.

But you can choose to go down fighting. A few nips and tucks here and there. Botox, liposuction, tummy tuck, face, breast and buttocks lift. (Think Raquel.) Thread lift to pull your sagging jaw line and crepey neck; creams and lotions that promise “to restore the elasticity and youthful glow of your skin.” Vitamins and supplements to make you look and feel young again, and soon for us women, a pill similar to Viagra. A big hurrah for equality. I can hardly wait for the creatively suggestive commercials that will soon populate my TV. (Where’s the remote?)

BTW, is there a significance to the fact that in the America, we are carded at least twice in our lives? I’ve mulled this over and here’s my theory. We are carded at 21 to prove we are old enough to drink our way under the table. That’s a no-brainer. But at 62, I think it’s some kind of a gatepost. You can choose to go forward and be a wiser, kinder, more loving person for the remaining years of your life; or you can stop right there, turn around, and simply rewind your life back to those halcyon days of your youth. Take your pick. And don’t forget your ID.