Shocking is what it was then, and some 15 years later, it still is.
There I was at the counter waiting for my supersized breakfast and coffee when the cashier asked THE question.
“Are you a senior citizen?”
OK! So my stomach was hanging over my belt just a tad. And I was wearing shorts and my black knee-length socks with my sandals. Maybe that tipped her off.
“So, what's it to you?” I snarled.
“If you're a senior citizen, you get a discount on your coffee,” she replied politely.
“Discount?” I thought, “Did she say, 'discount?'” The word “discount” is as pleasurable to a senior citizen as the word “awesome” is to a teenager.
“Why, yes, I most certainly am a senior citizen, and aren't you the intelligent one to recognize it,” I replied courteously, and with a new-found sense of entitlement. “How's about a discount on the supersized breakfast?”
I had never thought about being a senior citizen, but I guess that experience clinched it. Like it or not, I was a senior citizen and I had reached another of many milestones.
Characteristic of milestones, they generally sneak up on you, clobber you on the shoulder and shout, “SURPRISE!”
My most recent milestone occurred as I waited to see my opthalmologist. The nurse, who appeared to be not a day older than 15, was updating my records.
“Any new meds since you were last here?”
“No, ma'am.”
“Do you smoke?
“No, ma'am.”
“Do you drink?”
“No, ma'am.”
“Do you live alone?”
“Do I live alone?” I answered as if she had asked what brand underwear I was wearing.
“Yes, do you live alone?”
The question sent an unfamiliar feeling of despair through my body as my mind processed multiple questions simultaneously.
“Did she just ask me if I live alone? What business is it of hers? Is 71 the threshold that calls for medical personnel to investigate a patient's housing status? What is it that would lead her to exhibit concern for my welfare? Do I look uncared for?
Except for three months one summer, I had never lived alone. Whether it be Mom, Dad or my Main Most, I've always had someone around to share in the joys and the trials of life. While I've often bragged that I would do just fine if I were suddenly on my own, the nurse's question caused me to put my pride aside and consider what it would be like to live alone.
It's a scary thought. There's no way I could keep the house in the shape it's in now by myself. And what about Christmas and other holidays? Me, decorate? A one-legged antelope would do a much better job.
What would I do if a really important financial decision had to be made? I've always talked those things over ad nauseam with Main Most and, together, we've arrived at our decisions.
And what if I were called upon during a family emergency? Could I trust myself to respond appropriately without having someone to tell me when I wasn't thinking logically?
If I were living alone, who would pick me up when I was down? Who would rein me in when I ventured into territory in which I had no business? What would I do if I hear bumps in the night? Would the comics be as funny if there were no one around to laugh with?
I don't know. The thought of living alone is too absurd for a young man like me.
The nurse just got me confused with the old geezer in the next room – the one wearing shorts, black knee-length socks and sandals.
