By Marla Boone
Contributing columnist
Are you a little depressed about aging? The good news is, aging beats the alternative. The bad news is, well, just look in a mirror. There will be an unrecognizable person peering back. It’s not the face of the person you used to be, at least not outwardly. It’s, as a wise soul once said, the face you deserve. There are people who do that fake smile and say you’re not getting older, you’re getting better. These people are: (1) In their twenties (2) Unfamiliar with both cellulite and wrinkles and (3) Liars.
Aging is hard. Aging is when you have to stop and rest in between putting on both shoes. Assuming you can still reach your feet. Aging is when you find yourself prefacing excuses with, “I used to be able to…” Fill in your own distressing blanks. I used to be able to do fifty sit-ups. I used to be able to average eighteen miles an hour on my bike. I used to be able to scamper up that ladder and clean gutters. All day. For fun. And right before rigor mortis sets in, I used to be able to remember where I put my hearing aids. Hair is falling off our heads and growing out of our ears and noses and the second knuckle of our big toes. When I was younger, older people were treated with a little respect and owned every shred of immutable authority. Now parents ask kids what they want for dinner, as though the kids are buying. Kids rule the world. I missed it coming and going. Most of us are fighting the good fight, doing yoga and Pilates and going to the gym and lifting weights. You can slow it down but there is only one way to stop it and that involves a funeral planner.
We put up with younger people who act like we never did — wait for it — when we were their age. That’s funnier and less true than ever. Here is a quote: “The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their households.” Right? It’s a complaint our generation derived from living with the callow youth of today. Except it’s not. Aristotle said it in 350 B.C.E. It, unlike many of us, just aged well.
If Aristotle was complaining, you can bet our parents were, too, and not without cause. We wore skirts so short they were more like belts. We embraced rock and roll as though we had invented it. We didn’t know the words to “Louie, Louie” (no one did…who could understand it?), but we were secretly delighted that whatever The Kingsmen were saying, it would have appalled our moms and dads. A wide variety of illicit drugs was all around. I hadn’t heard of crystal meth then, but the pot smoke was thick as an Irish fog.
And speaking of illicit drugs, another thing that truly disturbed our parents were The Rolling Stones. I loved them. Tame by today’s standards, they were on the very precipice of cutting-edge lyrics and total bad-boy-ism. At least one band member OD’d every month. Drummers came and went. Mick Jagger was strutting around with his chicken-bone chest bared for all the girls to ogle. The Rolling Stones. But wait! There’s more! And it’s infinitely worse. Do you know what’s more troubling than The Rolling Stones in the 1970s? The Rolling Stones in 2024, that’s what. They’re going to tour. Again.
Mick Jagger will be 81 in July. The poster child for beating the odds, Keith Richards, has already attained that venerable age. Every great tour needs a great sponsor. The Stones have one: AARP. I swear I am not making this up. I’m imagining an upcoming interview. Someone sticks a microphone in Jagger’s face and asks, “Which do you prefer…boxers or briefs?” To which Mick replies, “Depends.”
Marla Boone resides in Covington and writes for Miami Valley Today.
