Don’t call me ‘Sir’

OK, we had an international student living with us and I understood that Jnana might be a difficult way to address me.

But being called “Sir” always came as a jolt.

It had me thinking of the cartoon strip – wait, you mean there’s a REAL Breathitt County in Kentucky? – where? Oh, it’s Bloom County! Who was that girl, anyway, the militant one?

Or was it Doonesbury?

Reminded me of the time at the library when I helped a high school student find the right LP of the “1812 Overture” and she called me “Sir” by way of thanking me. Made me feel old, indeed. And that must have been nearly 30 years ago.

At least she learned the piece in a performance with cannons. Hope it impressed the rest of her music appreciation class.

Well, let’s get back on focus.

Isn’t “Sir” what some men are called by their mistress? Or would want to be? Frankly, I find even that somewhat creepy.

Or the way soldiers address their officers? Still creepy.

The other day, though, someone was in the situation of trying to address me by something other than my name, and it rang right.

“Dude,” he said.

Yeah, I’ll puff up my chest at that and put a little gusto in my stride. Even at my age. Besides, it brings out the hippie in me, all these years later.

Even makes me start singing that Beatles tune. Wait, it’s not “Hey, Dude”? It’s “Hey, Jude”?

It doesn’t have cannons, does it? No siree bob!

Hey, just wait till you’re old

No to brag, but I’m in pretty good shape for my age. Admittedly, that’s setting the bar low. Still, there’s a lot I don’t like when it comes to getting older. For example.

  1. Everyday aches and pains. Well, I was fine until I took up daily exercise.
  2. Slowing down. I run out of energy in tackling chores, for one thing. An hour or two and I’m ready to quit. On the other hand, retirement has allowed me to focus more fully on my writing and reading projects. At least when the chores don’t get in the way.
  3. Balding and graying. Among other matters of vanity.
  4. Diminished sex drive. Ouch! Let’s not call it libido.
  5. Fuzzy memory. OK, I do have a lot more crammed into my cranium, but retrieving specifics can be difficult. And that leads to worries about Alzheimer’s or dementia. Not that I can stop any of the aging progressions, which could be a point of its own.
  6. Realizing all the babies in the neighborhood have now graduated from high school or college. At least the ones when we moved here. Or, for that matter, being called “Sir” rather than “Dude.”
  7. Being required to take a handful of pills every morning. Well, it could be worse, like rounds twice a day. Obviously, we’re not talking about recreational drugs, either.
  8. Seeing old acquaintances for the first time in years and being shocked at how old they’ve become. Sometimes I don’t even recognize them. Worse yet, they don’t recognize me.
  9. Overhearing things. Like the kid in the swimming pool locker room who turned to his uncle and proclaimed, “That man’s old,” when I’m the only other person present.
  10. And this. Realizing I’m now the oldest generation in many of my circles and expected to fill the role of the Old Wise One. The ones who went before were so much better.

~*~

What can you add to the list?