This was written June 11, 2017
What makes us old? Gray hair? Wrinkled Skin? Maybe we should define “old”.
I read somewhere that middle-age is that time in our lives when we try to use up everything Mother Nature gave us before Father Time takes it away.
Some things only get better with age. Got to love a 1957 Chevy.
Turning 30 was nothing. Forty was just another number. Then came 50 and somehow, I still feel the same on the inside. No prescription drugs and I’m willing to admit my Heavenly Father has blessed me. The years move onward and the parade of my life marches to its own beat.
Milestones sometimes arrive with some pomp and circumstance and even some anticipation. Getting that driver’s license, turning 21, becoming a parent for the first time and later, becoming a grandparent. Grandchildren truly are God’s reward for not choking your teenagers when you wanted to.
But sometimes you stumble onto (into) something and you are completely blindsided.
My husband and I were married in 1979 which means, in 2017, we’ve been married for 38 years. (I knew I’d married Mr. Right, I just didn’t know his first name was “Always”.) So, we went to McDonald’s for breakfast on a nice Sunday morning before church; something we’ve done dozens of times. The girl behind the counter took our order. “A big breakfast with hot cakes,” says Mr. Kennett. Then she looks at me, making eye contact so I can give her my order. I smiled and said, “We are going to split it. I eat the biscuit and the hash brown and we share the dollar tea.” The girls says, “That’s cute.” Say what? “Cute”? My brain is doing cartwheels and trying to process what I’d just heard.
Later that same day, we ate at Culver’s and I mentioned the “cute’ thing to the LITTLE GIRL behind the counter. (Seriously? Does her mama know where she is?) She told me about another couple who comes in on a regular basis and they always order the same thing and then share it. “It’s just so cute”, she says. There’s that word again.
So forget gray hair. Forget the age on your driver’s license and pay no attention to what you hear from AARP. Don’t worry about the wrinkles that make you look like a saddlebag with eyes. The “cute” is what to look for.
“Cute” is reserved for little kids and old people. Next time someone says I’m cute, I’ll have to decide how old I will LET it make me feel.
I’ve always thought age was just mind over matter; you don’t mind, it don’t matter.
Until next time, I’m thinking “cute” may be a four-letter word.
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