Comedian Bill Cosby once quipped, “When you become senile, you won’t know it.” I chuckled upon first hearing it, but this past weekend, having doddered another year deeper into my seventh decade of troubling the earth, the quip took on a somber tone.
My concerns about physical and mental senescence became more acute when my old college roommate called to wish me a happy birthday. During our chat, he mentioned a septuagenarian professor whom we students called “Old Doc Dementia.” The poor guy often gave the same lecture repeatedly until someone reminded him that he had covered that material in previous sessions.
“We couldn’t believe how old he was,” my friend recalled, “and look at us now — we’re that old!”
After he hung up, I began to wonder if creeping dementia is a natural consequence of aging. Am I, like Cosby said, so senile that I don’t even know it? Am I covering the same old ground in my college lectures? Are my students referring to me as “Old Doc Dementia?” Do I remember past events that never even happened?
Such troubling thoughts worried me until I received a birthday message from another friend which included want ads submitted by senior citizens:
FOXY LADY: I am a sexy, fashion-conscious blue-haired beauty, in her mid-eighties, slim, 5’4” tall (I used to be 5’6”) who is searching for a sharp-looking, sharp-dressing companion. Matching white shoes and belt a plus.
LONG-TERM COMMITMENT: I am a recent widow who just buried her fourth husband who is looking for someone to round out a six-unit plot. Dizziness, fainting, and shortness of breath are not a problem.
SERENITY NOW: I am into solitude, long walks, sunrises, the ocean, yoga and meditation. If you are the silent type, let's get together, remove our hearing aids and enjoy quiet times.
WINNING SMILE: I am an active grandmother with original teeth, seeking a dedicated flosser to share rare steaks, corn on the cob, and caramel candy.
BEATLES OR STONES? I still like to rock, cruise in my Camaro on Saturday nights, and play the guitar. If you were a groovy chick who is now a groovy hen, let's get together and listen to my eight-track tapes.
MINT CONDITION: I am a male, 1932 model, high mileage, good condition, some hair and many new parts, including hip, knee, cornea, and valves. I’m not in running condition, but walk well.
After laughing at the ads and patting myself on the back for walking home from a pre-game tailgating party without having to call one of my kids to pick me up, I decided that I could have worse problems than getting old and dealing with an unreliable memory. My mood became even more optimistic when I recalled a few lines of Robert Browning’s poetry:
Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life,
For which the first was made.
Our times are in his hand who saith,
“A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half….”
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
