The Golden Years

Many people view getting old the way you’d view having the fire alarm suddenly go off while a doctor is inserting acupuncture needles – they don’t welcome it. They worry about slowing down and having a body that prevents them from doing things. These people are the target market for TV ads showing a 75-year old guy chasing a dog around a sunny yard while a narrator says “Ask your doctor if Molestra ™ is right for you.”

I’m not gonna be that guy. No way. I’m going to let the manly, athletic things go, because the later years open up all sorts of new possibilities for fun. Here’s my plan for 2042, when I turn 75:

I’m gonna buy some rustbucket Ford that’s twenty years old. By 2042 the population of Seattle will probably have doubled, but if current trends continue, the mass-transit scene will have improved only slightly. So traffic at rush hour will be hell.

So I’ll load my creaky body, which has shrunk a foot from my prime, into the Ford. And I’ll putter onto the busiest commuter arterial I can find. And then, despite being a perfectly good driver,  I’ll drive 15 miles-per-hour in a 35mph zone.

The guy behind me with the Bluetooth earpiece will shake inside his BMW and bark “Jesus grandpa, you’re killing me here!” I’ll signal to turn off the main road, and then not follow through. Hovering an inch from my rear bumper, Mr Bluetooth will glare at my grey-haired head and have no idea that I’m just engaging in some age-appropriate fun that doesn’t require a little blue pill.

And once traffic backs up sufficiently and the group honking starts, I’ll go get a doughnut.

Nobody expects seniors to be devious. And therein lies the magic. It’s the golden age of possibilities, and I can’t wait.