A Reality Check For Old Farts

I am a child of the 60’s and it wasn’t that long ago that we were the generation that told people not to trust anyone over thirty and then we became thirty ourselves. 

When our generation turned forty and we had to deal with things such as kids, mortgages and other real world responsibilities, we’d say things like “forty is the new thirty”, so we could tell ourselves that we weren’t getting old.  We knew it was some bullshit excuse, because behind closed doors we’d be rubbing Ben-Gay on our aching muscles, hiding the grey with Lady Clairol and the recreational drugs that we use to take had been replaced by prescribed medications for blood pressure, thyroid, diabetes and who knows what else. 

And now --- the children of the 60’s are in their fifties and there’s no use deny it anymore – we’re not getting old – we are old.  When you can sit in your easy chair at night and turn on any one of the news channels and see advertisements with 1-800 phone numbers selling music from Jimi Hendrix, Led Zepplin and Bob Seger – you know you’re getting old.  These were the kind of ads in the 60s that we use to make fun of that sold the music of the 40s and 50s – the artists that they’re promoting now has changed because the audience has changed.  It’s official – the children of the 60s are the new old farts.

If you can walk into a bar and order drinks while wearing jeans and a will i am t-shirt and not get carded…..then you’re officially an old fart.

If your idea of a “happy meal” is anything that you can eat without your dentures…..then you’re officially an old fart.

If the most mentally challenged show that you watch on television is Babe Winkleman’s fishing show…then you’re officially an old fart.

Any time you start out a sentence with the phrase, “You kids…..” ….then you’re officially an old fart.

When somebody asks you how you voted in the last election and you tell them that you’re hoping your doctor will prescribe Viagra for you….then you’re officially an old fart.

Any time you see a kid with fluorescent blue hair wearing a nose ring and say something like “what in the hell is he thinking looking like that” and you forget that when you were that kid’s age – you had hair down to the middle of your ass wore a “I’m with stooopid” t-shirt….then you’re officially an old fart.

If you get arrested and go to trial and a jury of your peers can only be found at the local nursing home….then you’re officially an old fart.

If you can remember when you had to lick a postage stamp…then you’re officially an old fart.  Better yet….if you can remember postage stamps….you’re officially an old fart.

If the first car that you ever owned was ever sung about in a recording by Jan and Dean or the Beach Boys…you’re officially an old fart.

If your idea of a “date movie” is picking up a copy of “Driving Miss Daisy” from Blockbuster…you’re officially an old fart.

If you call your wife “Mother” or your husband “Daddy”….you’re not only weird – you’re officially an old fart.

If your drink of choice is milk on the rocks…you’re officially an old fart.

When you tell someone that you can’t meet them for lunch,  because you have to watch “your stories” on television – you’re officially an old fart.

If you have to have someone cut up your oatmeal so you can eat it in the morning…you’re officially an old fart.

If you have to explain to someone that the piece of jewelry on your wrist is a ‘watch’ and it’s used to ‘tell time’….then you’re officially an old fart.

If you can remember your first kiss, but have a hard time remembering where you put your car keys….then you’re officially an old fart.

If that relaxing cocktail at the end of the day is mixed with Metamucil….you’re officially an old fart.

If you tell anyone that you read an interesting article in the large print edition of Reader’s Digest…you’re officially an old fart.

If you can remember when there were four living Beatles…you’re officially an old fart.

If you can remember who shot J.R. or better yet, who J.R. is….you’re officially an old fart.

If you can remember when the ignition for your car was located on the dash and not on the steering column….you’re officially an old fart.

If you can remember watching Neil Armstrong walking on the moon or Richard Nixon resigning the presidency on TV….you’re officially an old fart.

If “worrying about the draft” meant something other than having to shut the door to keep the cold out…you’re officially an old fart.

If you can remember people getting pissed off because Bob Dylan picked up an electric guitar…you’re officially an old fart.

If you have to explain to someone that you actually had to get up off your ass to change the channel on your television…you’re officially an old fart.

Yeah, It's My Birthday

It’s my birthday today. Wanna know how I know? Everybody’s telling me that it is -- that’s how I know. Just when I told myself that I was going to look at today just like it was any other day – everyone screws it up for me with happy birthday shout outs!

When I signed in on my FACEBOOK page this morning – what do I see? Happy birthday wishes from a good hunk of my FACEBOOK friends. Some sound sincere….some add a little humor to the “special” day and you know that there had to be one person out there that said something like, “It’s your birthday, Rich? I thought you were dead!”

Well, I can’t deny it….it is my birthday and its number fifty-six, can you believe it! Can anyone tell me how I got so old? It seems like only yesterday that I was a little boy who wet the bed and had a crush on the girl down the street. If I close my eyes, I can still see that little girl sucking the thumb on her left hand as she twirled her long straight blonde hair with the index finger on her right hand. We had a lot of good time’s together going round and round on the neighbor’s merry-go-round and playing pick-up sticks and jacks on her front porch. I can also remember how mad both of our parents got when she cut my hair on my front porch. Now she probably doesn’t remember who in the hell I am and probably forgot about that haircut not long after I moved out of that neighborhood…it was a long long time ago.

Celebrating another birthday is a milestone of sorts for me, because I came from the generation that told every one not to trust anyone over thirty. Somehow I managed to break that age barrier by more than a few years, but I never could figure how being over thirty didn’t make you trustworthy. I will admit that I was a little surprised to hit forty – because I thought when I hit forty that I’d be worm food in some gravesite at Gracelawn Cemetery in Flint, Michigan. Well, not only did I make it to my fortieth birthday – I’m four years away from kissing the age of sixty right on the lips…infuckingincredible

A lot of things happen once you get old and I’m not talking about all of the obvious things like your hair turning gray or falls out – there are other signs. When you get old – you’re given an unwritten license to bitch about the weather any time of the day or week. It’s all because your body aches and the pain alerts you in many different ways to when it’s going to rain, snow or sleet. Why the national weather service hasn’t harassed an old person’s capability to predict the weather is beyond me.

When you get older, it’s not only expected that you yell at kids who play on your lawn – it’s those little flourishes like shaking your cane or running out the door with your walker that gives you “old people street cred”. It’s also expected that once you get older that must drive at least twenty miles under the posted speed limit just to piss everyone off – especially the jerks in their high risin’ monster pickup trucks.

Let me take this time out to thank everyone for all of the birthday cards and well wishes on this my fifty-sixth birthday – but I must be going. The clock on the wall is telling me it’s time to go and take my meds (you do that a lot when you get old) and mix up a big birthday glass of Metamucil in my orange juice to really “get myself going".