OK. By now I've heard just about all the geriatric pokes and elderly stabs that I care to hear. "50, you're closer to being dead than alive"-Jake or "Wow, you're halfway to 100"-Savannah or "We can't put all your candles on or we'd burn the house down"-Grandma.
Believe me, I know how old I am. I'm reminded every day. I'm reminded when I wake up multiple times every night from my own snoring. I'm reminded when I stand up and my knee snaps out loud and I can't take a step for a few seconds. I'm reminded every day because I've worn a trail to the bathroom from multiple visits every morning thanks to my blood pressure pills. I'm reminded every time I turn over at night and my back pops. I'm reminded when I look at my fingers and my pinkies point a different direction than the other eight. I'm reminded when I try to read something without my glasses on. I'm reminded when I forget why I went into a room so I retrace my steps and I still can't remember. I'm reminded when the local hospital is kind enough to send me a birthday card and upon opening it I find that they're offering 20% off a colonoscopy. And I was reminded yesterday because I got an application to join AARP in the mail.
I know how old I am. And I know what it's like to take care of an aging parent. I'm almost excited thinking about the fact that one day you guys will have to take care of us. We had to change enough of your diapers it's only right that you have to clean up our little accidents. We had to decipher your baby language so it's appropriate that you have to try to decode the random babblings of a senile octogenarian.
Yes, I'm getting older. But that little commandment about honoring your father and mother ensures that there will be some payback. I'm just sorry that I won't remember any of it.
