How Old

 

 

December 6, 2021

 

Greetings from a timeless place,

 I had this moment in a conversation where time disappeared and in a tiny pause turned into a slice of eternity.  When I thought about it last night, it made me smile between my dreams.  And here we are. 

 I was running down my street, the last quarter mile of a meandering run through my little town, focused on thoughts far from the cold morning I sliced through.

 A car pulled alongside and slowed to pace next to me.  I glanced to see if I knew who it was, and saw a strange face, an old man wearing a baseball cap. He was smiling, which was encouraging. He held the car at a perfect match to my stride.

 “You look like a man that just ran 10 miles.” he said.

I didn’t want to explain anything, just said: “I ran a few, that’s right.”

“How old are you?”

I looked down and smiled.  The question caught me off guard, and so I hesitated for a fraction of time.  Long enough for a small slice of eternity to pass.

 

Once in a while, while I am running a race, someone will ask how old I am.  Usually someone who thinks we might be in the same master’s age group, eyeing me as contender for whatever forgettable ribbon they hand out for people in a category such as ours. 

 But no one asks me in my ordinary days.  I don’t think to ask anyone else either.  As an aside, I have completely lost the ability to guess someone’s age, other than ‘Child’, ‘Perhaps Teenager’  ‘Perhaps Thirty Something’ or ‘I dunno, my age I guess’.

 I think it was a common question when I was little boy and my parents would introduce me to their friends, and perhaps they would ask: “And how old are you?” to give them a chance to be impressed when I got it right, or at how big I was for my age.

 A little later, people in authority were interested in my age.  Perhaps to charge me appropriately when I went to the movies, or to make sure I was legal to buy beer.  Some adults would use the question to intimidate me, which makes me laugh a little bit now.

 I also remember when I was a teenager and someone was calling my judgment into question, they would say “How old ARE you?” 

 Some years ago, someone asked “How old do you see yourself?”  I don’t think I ever answered that question out loud, but I thought about it.  Maybe then I was thinking I was forty.  This morning?  I paused here to think, and it seemed a frivolous question, one that you would not ask a river, which is both old and young always.  How old do you see yourself, water-that-moves?

 This won’t surprise people who know me, but in almost any decade you can pick, I have behaved in a childish way that has caused some other responsible peer to ask “What,.. are you NINE YEARS OLD?”  I’ll confess this was following some burping or farting or outrageous laughter at Monty Python or Laurel and Hardy. 

 In truth, I hardly ever consider what age I am, even on my birthday, which I love to celebrate.  It isn’t an issue of vanity, though I have no lack there, I simply don’t think of the number as a companion.  I still see myself, if I consider it at all, as all of my ages, this ribbon of living that holds every experience. 

 But you can’t say that to strangers, and it doesn’t fit on the little form you fill out at the doctor’s office. 

 The man in the car asked it in a kind voice, with a little energy though, like he had a reason for asking.  “How old are you?” 

And I looked down, smiling, went away for an eternity, and replied:

“Well, I am sixty-four.”

The man smiled at me.  “Good for you.  I’m going to be eighty-four next week.”

 Which was the whole point of him asking me, to find a way to tell someone, anyone, that he was still alive, and celebrating.  I felt like we had exchanged credentials, some arcane age-rite I had been unaware of.  Before he drove away, the man said: “Good luck, brother.” 

 I was still laughing at this exchange by the time I came up my driveway.  In a way it inspired me, just the spontaneity of it, and the odd question.  I looked up into the sky above the woods, stretched my every-year-old body and delighted in the feeling. 

 

 Hope this finds you seeing yourself,

 

David

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2021 David Smith