old

 I have

HAD.IT.

with people, especially people close to my age, who try to tell me, "You're not old."

I am closer to 70 than 60.

I have just finished my application for Social Security Retirement payments.

I remember where I was for the moon landing, for the Kennedy assassination, and when I first heard that the Beatles had appeared on Ed Sullivan. (I wasn't actually cool enough to watch the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. My family watched Disney's "Wonderful World of Color" on Sunday nights. On a black-and-white TV. People who are not old have never even HAD a black-and-white TV.)

I'm old. Don't tell me I'm not.

Nobody is ever going to think I'm 35, or 45, or even 55, ever again.

People think of "old" as broken down, no longer relevant, having nothing useful or important to say or contribute. In this youth-obsessed society, there might be a reason for that.

But it's not a necessary association. Everest is old, but it will outlast anyone alive today.

There is the "old" of the nameless sedan, rusting in a nameless grassy field, and there is the "old" of the classic car, maintained and polished. The older models require more maintenance, but we reward that maintenance with a grace that is not otherwise available.

I will be vitally, and (I hope) gracefully, old.