hey used to refer to us behind our backs as “the over-the-hill” crowd. Adults in their 70s started “forgetting” their birthdays, and even fudging their ages on resumes for fear that they would be passed over for jobs due to “ageism,” the implicit bias against old people.
Not so much anymore. People in their 70s seem to be ruling the world, or at least much of it. Special Counsel Robert Mueller was appointed to perhaps the most important job of his life after he hit the age of 70, and his senior, Bernie Sanders, seemed driven through the Presidential primary campaign by a near-boundless source of energy at the ripe young age of 73. If only the DNC had not wanted to play it so safe, deciding to go with Hillary (no spring chicken herself). Who decided that a 73-year old unabashed Socialist couldn’t get elected as President? If a reality show star who apparently (according to Michael Wolff) can’t read and has the attention-span of a 6-year old with ADD on Ritalin can make it to the White House, then anyone can!
- To be sure, we are on the “back nine,” but that does not mean that we should be sidelined or counted out of the game. I recently went to see my orthopedic surgeon for a hip X-ray. I had been avoiding making an appointment for months – perhaps years – since I was in deep denial of the increasingly obvious reality that I needed a hip replacement. After all, I had run over 24 New York Marathons and completed some of them under 3 hours, which is fairly respectable for an aging amateur. But in recent years, I had joined the Achilles Team of disabled runners, where I would act as an informal “guide” to one or more of my permanently disabled running colleagues, who did not have the same surgical options as I did to “cure” my growing disability.
My orthopedic surgeon specialized in sports medicine. A large poster in his waiting room urged his patients to “Get Back In the Game.” When he informed me of the obvious, that I had been running with “bone on bone” for years, I asked him if a could still run marathons with the new hip. He just looked at me and slowly nodded. Not in a good way. But who knows. I may surprise him yet. You can no longer count us “old codgers” out!
No one reacts much anymore when they learn that I have a 10-year old son. A generation ago, I would have been shunned or whispered about as a “dirty old man.” But not anymore. One of my closest colleagues and contemporary has an 11-year old son. No big deal. In fact, did you know that Medicare will pay us, seniors, a bonus for raising a minor child? I didn’t know it at the time, and it wasn’t part of my financial planning for my “golden years,” but it certainly came as a pleasant surprise.
I also have several other children running up to the age of 38, which also is not that unusual these days. Of course, it usually takes two plus marriages, which is what happened in my case. My wife is somewhat younger, which you may have already surmised, but she got her hip replaced before me. Nothing to do with age, though. She had always been an avid skier and competitive tennis player. “Better to wear it out than rust it out,” she is fond of saying. Now we will have something else to share; yet another bond between us (new hips). In fact, with a new hip, doesn’t the average age of your body parts go down?
Our next youngest is 23, and he just completed his Marine basic training at Parris Island, South Carolina. These days, it is not unreasonable for me to expect actually to be around and functioning reasonably well (albeit in my 90s) if he spends his full career as a Marine and retires in 20 years.
And that brings us to Donald J. Trump, who seems to be giving all of us 70-somethings a bad name. Steve Bannon apparently told the author Michael Wolff that Trump “had lost it,” or words to that effect. The rest of the White House staff and close family members seem to concur. Sad as he often tweets, since he has never learned the fine art of emailing. There is an exception to every rule. Maybe someone should take that “big nuclear button” away from him before he hurts himself, and blows up the world in the process. If he were in a senior living facility, they would probably have already taken any real silverware away from him and issued him a spork. How could the American people have been so thoughtless as to have given an increasingly deranged man the nuclear codes?
Won’t somebody do something? After all, I wrote up a 20-year plan for myself on New Year’s Day, and I would like to be permitted the opportunity to execute that plan. Thank you very much.