Some consolation.

 Being considered an old man. Don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. But that’s the way it goes. Now that I’m an octogenarian.  Happened to me. Two years ago, and counting. I don’t want to consider myself old. I’d like to quit counting the years. To forget my age. Because when I’m constantly reminded of it. I occasionally go into a funk. And start to feel old. It’s unfair. That one must confess to his age. For the sake of truth. I’d rather be a liar. That would help me feel better. I might even start believing my lie. Anyway, it annoys me. When I’m in a roomful of people. And I look around. To discover that I’m the oldest. Yes. Yes. I know I should be proud of such a distinction. As an elder statesman. But still, some youngsters consider me an old fart. A modern-day Methuselah. Of course, I try to laugh it off. And brag that I’m 114. That I look young. For my age. That tends to get me more respect. As a relatively youthful looking old man. Some consolation. --Jim Broede