SENIOR SUNDAYS
On Sundays, a ten percent discount is given to seniors at Garden of Eden, a Manhattan market. Last Sunday, I was there, buying tomatoes, cucumbers, and red peppers. Another shopper, picking tomatoes, said, “They could do better by us, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” I said. “I usually buy my vegetables at the Farmer’s Market on Saturday, but didn’t have a chance yesterday.”
The woman went on, “I don’t mean the quality. The 10% discount they give us isn’t bad. 20 would be better, but hey, let’s not complain.”
Ouch! “So I guess you can tell I am a senior then.” I glanced at the slightly stooped woman with white hair and a very lined face. It was the first time someone who looked significantly older—a stranger yet—included me in her club.
It wasn’t the first time someone assumed I was eligible to reap the benefits that come with age. Two years ago, on a road trip through the southwest, I asked for a senior pass at the Zion National Park entrance and got it. No identification was needed.
A few weeks ago on a crowded bus, a young man got out of his seat. For me. “Here Ma’am,” he said. “You sit.” Guys used to occasionally give me winks and smiles. Now it’s ma’am and seats.
Until recently, I passed for young. Or younger than my age. In my twenties, as a new teacher, I took my class on a field trip to the Museum of National History. The guard at the door asked, “Where’s the teacher?” “Right here.” I held up my hand. He and the guard beside him cracked up. One afternoon in my late-twenties, at a butcher’s, I bought a brisket, steaks, and lamb chops. While wrapping everything, the butcher said, “Your mother must be doing a heap of cooking or stocking up her freezer. Nice you run her errands.” In my thirties, more than a once I got, “You don’t look old enough to be a mother.”
Sweet-talk of that nature continued for another fifteen years. Now, despite my wearing the same kind of clothes I wore in college in almost the same size, and my ‘almost daily’ work-outs, except from my husband, I don’t get regular oh-how-young-you-look comments nowadays.
Time waits for no one. Not for budding or fading superstars. Not for the previous generations. Or for our children and theirs. And not for us: the once-invincible baby boomers, who no longer sing with our Sir Paul “When I’m 64.”
The year I turned 8, my Aunt Yetta turned 50. My father and I used to visit her on Sundays. On our way to her house two days before her 50th birthday, Dad told me she received a letter from Golden Agers, a club for senior citizens, saying she was eligible to join.
“That depressed her,” he said. “Wish her a Happy Birthday, but don’t mention her age, Golden Agers, or her eligibility.”
The second we walked in, I said, “Daddy told me you’re eligible.”
Fortunately, my aunt laughed.
So now I am eligible. Very eligible. My family’s last generation is gone except for my 93-year-old Aunt Dora, my first babysitter and Scrabble opponent, now in hospice care. When I call her, I tell her about my newish husband, whom she never met, and about my better Scrabble words. “You taught me well,” I said on Sunday, not wanting to hang up.
Now it’s my turn to laugh at comments and wisecracks about my eligibility, and as the Garden of Eden shopper reminded me, about my fading youth. A 10% discount for us seniors isn’t bad. I still get my vegetables. I still get my kicks. Enormous ones, too. So as the lady in produce also said, “Hey, let’s not complain.”
I’m going there on Sunday for my 10%!
Age is a state of mind, not number. You will be forever young.
Love this piece. I can so relate. I get just a little upset whenever I buy a senior movie ticket and the ticket person doesn’t question my eligibility. Have yet to buy the discount metro card even though I’ve been eligible for more than a year … maybe next year.
You have nothing to worry about. We are all on the same path and you seem to have found a great way to stay young and vibrant. Besides, from what you have previously written, the 10% should make you smile. Stay young in spirit
I think that you should enjoy the status. We have all earned the right. You keep on writing and making us smile and we will all stay younger, especially you. Anyway, whats so wonderful about being younger — so much to learn about life.
You young ones, you, you all make me feel so young.
Love ‘n Stuff,
Nancy
The NYT recently described a 63-year-old as being in late middle age. Since it’s the paper of record, we’re not old yet.
Well Nancy, yes, I get that also. I wonder, “How do they know?” Then I catch my reflection in a store window and wonder who that very short greyish haired round woman might be.
At our recent mini reunion in Buffalo I walked into La Hacienda and thought “Who are all of these old people?” They are us! Ah.
Your piece speaks for all of us BH 1965 graduates.
xheidi
Hope cost of living increase will inspire a deeper discount when I’m eligible…it’s just around the corner!
Loved it. How come Aunt Dora hasn’t met Jonathan?
I could easily identify with every thing you said. A
person on the subway offered me a seat recently. That
wasn’t the first time it’s happened.
Did you go to Nora Ephron’s Memorial service?
I promise never to call you on Wed. night.
Talk to you soon and Many Thanks for putting me on your
blog.
I just got a call to come in for an interview at the
Trader Joes on the Upper Westside tomorrow at 2p.m.
Say a prayer for me. I really miss working.
Saw “Slowgirl” last night at Lincoln Center. Tickets for it
are only twenty bucks. You “guys” should go.
Love to you, Michael
Nancy – i understand – it is like when that AARP membership card arrived and I think who is this for – no old people here and as I look at the envelop – I see it is addressed to me!!! How is this possible I say? I am not an old geezer using my discount card? I am a young 50 year old!! And guess what – I dont want that discount – I would rather be carded!!! hahaha!!!
We ..[us baby boomers]..all think we look great for our age. Til we have one of those senior moments and realize yup, we’re old. Such is life. I try not to look at too much with my reading glasses on. Now that is depressing. I prefer a soft focus world where everyone looks pretty good and the dirt on my floor is practically gone.
A similar thing happened to me today. I went to our library and parked in one of the three “senior citizen” spots near the front door. No one looked like they doubted me; no one even looked at me. When that upsets me I like to think that they are not believing that I’m entitled but just don’t want to say anything. When I was in the library I had a long and humerus conversation with a woman I don’t know very well, something I probably
wouldn’t have done when I was younger. So some things do get better!
Keep them coming, Barbara
Love hearing from you. I think most if it not all things get better with age. Takes a while to get the hang of it all, no?
Thank you for being in touch here.
LOVE, Nancy
The say it takes about ten years to get used to how old you are. I don’t think you can ever get used to how old you are. Best we can do is ignore it all and stay healthy!
Not sure I’ll ever get used to being “of a certain age.”
Laughs and love are where it’s at.
xoxoxo N
I could so identify! This happens to me all the time. Sometimes, I look down at my arm and wonder at how the texture of the skin is changing as if before my very eyes.