In the old days “seniors” were expected to retire to quiet, inactive lives, enjoying pursuits that were considered suitable to the title. They were expected to dress differently, eschewing fashion and sexual attractiveness for the dignity of the elderly. I’m nearly 60,which would have made me a “little old lady” fifty years ago. Should I accept that role, or fight it with all my spirit? I’m sitting here wearing a tie dy -shirt as I type this, and later on I’ll try to dress up sexy to go out, despite the fact that my deteriorating toe joints mean I can’t wear high heel shoes ever again. Those things would have been anathema for an old woman a few generations ago, viewed as an unhealthy denial of the aging process. Now it’s normal. Screw aging. It sucks. I’ll deny it tooth and nail for as long as I can, because inside I’m *not* old. And if I can make the person on the outside reflect who I really am just a little bit longer, then that’s what I’ll do. The flesh may deteriorate, but the spirit doesn’t have to.
I was a Senior on my way to class at my university. It was an extremely hot day in the South and I was hurrying to class, holding several heavy textbooks in my left arm. It was one of title rare days when there weren’t many students on the street, too hot maybe. It was kind of nice and peaceful, for a change, not being part of a crowd. Several university buildings were across the wide avenue from me, while I could check out the stores, shops, and restaurants on my side as I walked. I wasn’t really thinking of anything in particular. Except for the heat, it was a bright, clear, beautiful sunny day.