You’ll have to excuse me. I haven’t been this old before

So here we are. Some things affect me differently now. When I was a kid it used to really annoy me to have to sleep. Admit it. It’s a total waste of time. I could have been collecting rocks or leaves or building dams in the swamp or chopping small trees with my camp axe. I could have been reading more of The Count of Monte Cristo, or Jack O’Brien’s stories of mountie Jim Thorne and Silver Chief, or Jim Kjelgaard’s dog books, or Shirer’s The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. I used to lie awake holding my eyes open in defiance of parental orders for lights out until I fell asleep anyway. In those days flashlights were horrible as well as expensive. I just stayed mad in the dark as long as I could. Winter nights with a little snow offered only slight relief. I had a switch in my room for the gable light. If it were snowing I could watch the snow in the light and eke a little satisfaction from that. At least there was something productive to do, and maybe they’ll cancel school the next day! Right. Like that was going to happen. Young boys can glean hope from the slimmest inspiration. It kept me going.

My point is that there was no ceremony or celebration that I had when I left kid-dom

By the time I was an undergrad I was always pretty good about getting enough sleep because I knew how much I needed. During finals or if there was a big project going on, I could cut back a bit on snooze time if I upped the diet with brain food and planned well. But now…LOL…eating a little more has no effect on anything but my waistline, and the results come in fast. I can get by with less sleep at night now because I’ll be found sleeping during the daytime instead. Those naps come in between the rest of my zombie-like short sleep day. Believe me, if I have my eight hours, everybody’s happier. Live and learn and please forgive me. I haven’t been this old before. My dad was a famous eater. I have to admit it was fun just to watch him pack away all the great meals my mom made. He provided real inspiration for men of the future. Right there I learned that I should never fear packing away a few hundred extra calories if it tasted good and wasn’t growing anything fungal on the top. There came a day when the old ‘what the heck, let’s finish it’ slogan didn’t work so well. That was after about age 17. By age 22 the effect was almost immediate. Things had to change. It dawned on me that I hadn’t been that old before. When I was growing up, the lesson came home to me many times that I had to accept what lots of other people did, especially the older they were. No one bothered to tell me when a person reached the age he didn’t have to put up with crap any more. There’s a delayed effect of being a kid. When I reached age 21, other people were probably thinking I was an adult. Funny. By that age I had been a kid and had been thinking like a kid for my entire life. I hadn’t been that old before, but it didn’t matter because on my birthday that year I didn’t emerge as an old cynic. My head still operated much as it had when I was nine. When I was thirty I had been a kid for more than 2/3 of my life, and I was still thinking mostly like a kid. And now, at my present age, I was a kid for more than, well, never mind. My point is that there was no ceremony or celebration that I had left kid-dom. Some cultures have those events, but mine didn’t. We had role models instead, and they didn’t talk about those things much. Miss you, Pop!

Way back in the early days of the Republic we were all taught to respect our elders

What about birthdays? When I was six, it was a victory over the actuarial tables. Now it’s a reminder of, uh, something, but anyhow, it’s nothing to crow about. If you must make a fuss about it, I like gift certificates for things I want and prepaid cards for the rest of it. I don’t need reminders that I’m older than I’ve ever been. It’s nothing to celebrate. Way back in the early days of the Republic we were all taught to respect our elders. After observing older siblings in this particular learning process, we came to understand that this respect wasn’t really a choice, it was an ultimatum. ‘Respect your elders, or you’ll be sorry you woke up this morning’ was the message we received. Being the third of three brothers, my language skills were pretty good. I had already mastered unspoken language, too. That came in handy. Of course, I had to test the ropes a bit myself. When I was about eleven I smarted off to my mom one day. This was on a day when I neglected to remember that my dad was present. He had great language skills. Yep. That only happened once. After that, unspoken language was all I needed. I talk to myself more now than I used to. Being older, I have more to say. Being older, there aren’t as many of my peer group around to listen as there used to be. If that bothers you, stop eavesdropping. As we get a little older, we get better at separating the smart people from the idiots. It’s because we need help from smart people more and more. Trust me, there aren’t all that many smart people around. That means I talk to myself more because I have to. I ask myself lots of questions. I don’t have good answers all the time, but I have more good answers than I did when I was nine. I call that progress.

I’m noticing a growing impatience with idiot clerks who have never heard of the concept of customer service

If I forget things now and then, maybe it’s because I’m trying to weigh all the stuff I didn’t know were choices before. When you’re 30, there’s food, there’s making a living, and there’s, you know, that other thing. What was it? I put it on a note a couple of days ago. Where’s that note? It was right here! I’m noticing a growing impatience with idiot clerks who have never heard of the concept of customer service. It’s okay to not know the answer to my question. If I knew the answer I wouldn’t be asking it. But you can’t take offense at my question and you can’t shame me for it, and you have to be willing to help find the answer. I’m a baby boomer. I’ve had your job, dude, and a lot of other ones. I can make change and I can make a sentence. I’m proud of what I did in all those jobs and what I learned. You suck at this job. Just sayin’. Then there’s the whole righteous anger thing. There used to be lots of time (a whole lifetime!) to get over the damage other people did. How many times have I said, ‘Oh, well. We’ll get started rebuilding that part of our lives. Live and learn.’ What’s more likely to happen now is to find myself giving advice before somebody takes ill-considered action. “Hey, dude. You can break my car window if you must (or steal my livestock, or break into my shop, or set the woods on fire), but I’m telling you I really don’t recommend it.” His next action will tell you whether he’s halfway bright or just putting on a show. The moral of this part of the column: if I don’t make a mess, I won’t have to clean it up. And if you don’t make a mess, you won’t have to clean it up, and you won’t have that long recovery time, either. And you might consider this point: I haven’t been this old before. Who has more to lose? The older I get the more I appreciate the generations before us. They made the sacrifices and put themselves at risk in ways I couldn’t dream of doing. People may think that my generation are the only people who have to be pushed aside to get to whatever idea of paradise has infected their febrile brains. There’s a whole big group of people who got me here and whose memory I hold sacred who have to be pushed aside, too. So if you think that destroying the country is the way to my heart, I offer a bit of advice using all short words: No, it isn’t. So if you lack humility (*shudder*), a sense of humor, any perspective, or patience, let me suggest that you just don’t go there. Don’t keep getting older. It ain’t for wimps. I’m made aware of this every morning because I wake up, check to see which side of the sod I’m on and say with a smile: “I’ve never been this old before!”

Dr. Bruce Smith——Bio and Archives

Dr. Bruce Smith (Inkwell, Hearth and Plow) is a retired professor of history and a lifelong observer of politics and world events. He holds degrees from Indiana University and the University of Notre Dame. In addition to writing, he works as a caretaker and handyman. His non-fiction book The War Comes to Plum Street, about daily life in the 1930s and during World War II,  may be ordered from Indiana University Press.