Old Fart Denial

I perused the bulletin board while I waited in line at my neighborhood coffee shop this morning. On it, I found an interesting flyer advertising an evening of dancing to Motown tunes. An old photo of the Supremes caught my eye. For a second or two, I actually thought this might be something I’d be interested in. Then I read who was holding the event - the local community senior center. OMG! I couldn’t get the picture of a bunch of old people jitterbugging to Marvin Gay out of my brain. Thoughts of walkers and canes stomping to “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” almost made my head explode. I would have been totally devastated if the music had been disco. That music is my guilty pleasure, and is alive and well and living in my iPod. When I was in my 40’s, a woman asked if I considered myself middle-aged. When I said “No”, she asked just how old I expected to live to if I wasn’t halfway there. Made me stop and re-think where I stood in the whole scheme of things. Lately I have noticed the music being played at the grocery store is from the 1970’s. I was thoroughly enjoying what I was hearing until I realized My Music is now Muzak. Is it also being played in elevators and as hold music on phones? Except for a few wrinkles and hair that’s more salt than pepper, I don’t really feel that ancient. I’m more like a really rickety 25. I never discussed the aging process with my parents, so don’t know what their thoughts were. I was too busy being young to worry about ever getting old. I’m sure they weren’t thrilled, but don’t remember them mentioning it. Maybe they thought there was no point. Everybody does it, whether they like it or not. That’s not the way I roll, however. I lead my life in total denial, and it seems to work for me. Until something like that flyer stops me in my tracks. I hope I’m still around in 30 years when the grocery store is playing today’s rap and hip hop on the sound system. Ha, that’s worth sticking around for.