One day it hits you like that proverbial ton of bricks.
You are no longer a teenager.
You are no longer a young adult.
You are no longer middle-aged.
You are old.
Euphemistically, a senior.
More than half your life is behind you.
You could live your life celebrating the fact you are still here.
You could, that is, if America did not work so hard at thumbing its nose at you.
Doing its best to point out that wrinkles and gray roots are anathema.
Wisdom is no longer revered.
Emeritus really means out to pasture.
Pursuits of achievement and awards are relics from the past.
Expectations for more are rooted in yesterday.
Aging in America is too often the death rattle for women.
Wrinkles become the bane of the mirror.
Makeup settles into creases and crevices hitherto unknown.
Eyelashes and eyebrows betray her with gray growth.
Hair thins and arm wings flap.
Body parts that once stood proudly, now sit down, never to stand again without support.
A cougar when she relishes the company of a younger man.
An old fool if she is wealthy.
“Growing old is not for sissies!”
It is for those who have the courage to age in America without apology!
Come, grow old with me. . .