Aging, from Geritol to Prevagen

Sometimes you can figure out people’s ages by their conversations. It’s the age gap, in case you’re wondering.

For instance, you overhear people talking in a big box store. See if you can figure out how old they are by their words:

•Woman: “Do you have tickets to the Harry Styles concert? I got front row seats.”

•Man: “You need to come over and we’ll play my new Madden NFL 23.”

•Woman: “So, how many kids do you have now? Mine are 4 and 2.”

•Man: “We just had our third kid. I’m looking for a part-time job.”

•Woman: “We have one in high school and the other is starting college. That gives me more time for the gym.”

•Man: “We have one in high school and the other is starting college. I’m looking for a third job.”

•Woman: “My stylist at Cut-n-Dried does a really good job coloring my gray hair.”

•Man: “My bald spot is spreading faster than the lava on the Big Island.”

•Woman: “It’s so hot in here. Don’t you think it’s hot?”

•Man: “I’d like to retire but we just don’t have enough in our 401Ks.”

•Woman: “My medicine cabinet has more bottles than the local bar.”

•Man: “My doc says I need to keep moving. So I’ve been walking a path from my recliner to the fridge and back.”

•Woman: “Did you hear about Mary? It’s hard to believe she’s gone.”

•Man: “Did you hear about John? It’s hard to believe he’s gone.”

From young adult to retiree, we all go through stages in life. When I was 20-something, sports was a big thing and I played like I could go on forever. Today, I have 20-something grandsons focused on playing games, thus confirming my point.

Now, at my advanced age, my mind says “Just do it” while my body says “Been there, done that.” My vertical leap has been reduced from kangaroo-like to bovine. Yeah, my grandsons have so much to look forward to.

The 30s were all about raising children. Even the smallest decision required us to invoke the kid clause: What we do, they do with us.

By the 40s, I eagerly looked forward to our three girls moving out to live their own lives. Soon we had grandkids to pitter-patter around our house. Now it’s great-grands, but I’m no longer 40.

In my 50s, I finally grew up and began a career. Meanwhile, I started seriously considering what I needed to do to retire before the age of 90. Those grandkids should begin planning yesterday.

I had three hip surgeries in my 60s and Ginny spent a fortune on her bridgework. During that decade, we officially became seniors. What’s scary is, our little girls will be seniors before we know it.

Now in our 70s, we look forward to the final fourth of our lives to unfold. That is, if our grandchildren don’t drive us insane. Then it’ll be their time to babysit us, and I plan to live a long time (heh-heh).

Since reaching this age, I tend to think more about life and how we change over the decades. One thing that comes up again and again is the belief that my childhood was idyllic.

But my memory isn’t so clouded that I’ve forgotten the times as a boy I told Mama I was bored. I soon learned the danger of that since she was prone to transform my boring time into worthwhile hours of sweeping, dusting and scouring the bathtub. I learned that boring is good.

Don’t get me wrong. There were plenty of boys in our neighborhood to spend the days playing ball, building hotrods and declaring war with BB guns. Those were the times when I couldn’t imagine what girls did for fun.

Despite those memories, and now living with a restricted body, I can still find enjoyment in life. It just requires some adjustments — like wearing a helmet and safety glasses during those army games.

Just kidding. I’ve given up the BB gun for bows and rubber-tipped arrows.