A few weeks ago, as Mr. Garvey and I were walking together, we passed a man who did a double take. In the last year I have grown quite accustomed to stares, double takes, and puzzled looks. Folks are usually trying to "figure out" my family. Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo are quite dark skinned. I, on the other hand, am of Scotch-Irish heritage. The question I am most asked about them when Pa is not with us is "are they mixed?" Based on their choice of question, it is apparent that their first assumption is that they are biracial only they can't seem to make sense of our two vastly different colorings. It is as if they are wondering how dark their father must be to have produced biracial children of such a dark color. So the question is usually asked in such a way as to let me know that they are a bit embarrassed and surprised that they are asking the question at all. When they find out that Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo are from Ethiopia, I am usually met with sighs of relief and nodding heads. Yes, the world (at least as far as genetics is concerned) does still make sense after all. Now they can continue on with life as they thought it to be. Order is restored.
Anyways, I was all set to ignore this man who spun around to look at us again. I was stopped in my tracks when he called me by my name. After a few exchanges of pleasantries and no doubt a puzzled look on my face, he said, "You don't know who I am do you?" I replied, "I think we went to high school together, but I am still trying to figure out how you recognized me. It's been 23 years." He graciously replied, "You still look the same as you did in high school." To which I thanked him and told him he had just made my day. After a bit more catching up, we wished each other well and said goodbye.
A few days later I am running an errand for my mother. She has requested a certain type of lotion for her face. It reminds me of sending Pa out to buy coffee for me. I tell him that perfection for me would be "shade-grown, fair trade, organic, certified bird-sanctuary, swiss-process decaf and Ethiopian" but to please try and find one that matches at least three of those requirements. I now understand how he feels. I was completely overwhelmed with the choices for lotion. As Mary, Mr. Edwards, and I are standing there reading the different combinations of day/night, anti-wrinkle, beta-hydroxy, spf lotions, we are approached by a man who is obviously well-versed in the lotions. He soon has it narrowed down to two for us to choose from. I start to thank him, when the following exchange occurs.
Man: I bet you think that I look younger than you.
My thoughts go something like this: He looks about 55. No I am not thinking that he looks younger than me. I am actually thinking about how much I hate crowded big box stores and that I just want to get this lotion and get out of here. Before I can think of a way to end the exchange right here and now I hear myself talking.....
Ma: How old do you think I am?
Man: 38.
Ma: Close enough.
Man: Well how old do you think I am?
Ma:(being generous, I think) 48.
Man: (becoming very loud and hysterical and definitely making a scene) 48? Do I really look 48? That is 10 years older than I actually am. I'm 38! I'm 38! I'm 38! Everyone tells me I look 38.
Ma:(really wanting to extricate myself from this situation) I am so sorry. I am really terrible at guessing ages. I really should not have even attempted. I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you. Really I'm so sorry.
Man: (calming down) It's OK. I am not good at guessing ages either. Everyone really does tell me I look 38 though. The funny thing is that I am really 55 but everyone says that I look 20 years younger.
We finally go our separate ways, but I still keep thinking about how upset he got. He really did look to be in his 50's. Maybe in a different situation, he wearing something other than a t-shirt and shorts and far removed from the unforgiving fluorescent lights of a big box store, he would have indeed looked much younger. Obviously someone has told him that he looks very young for his age. He obviously treasures this revelation. In fact he treasures this news so much, that he actually believes that he is the younger age. He is insulted that I only shave 7 years off of his actual age. While I admit I was flattered by the long, lost high school friend of mine whose statement made my day, heck maybe even my whole year, I don't of course take it literally. He was being kind. He was making small talk.
And what is wrong with looking your age? I am determined not to waste any energy worrying about every new wrinkle, grey hair, or slowly but steadily southward bound body parts. I really don't want to miss out on what this stage of my life has to offer by hopelessly and desperately trying to recapture a bygone youth. Anyone else out there for aging gracefully?
Anyways, I was all set to ignore this man who spun around to look at us again. I was stopped in my tracks when he called me by my name. After a few exchanges of pleasantries and no doubt a puzzled look on my face, he said, "You don't know who I am do you?" I replied, "I think we went to high school together, but I am still trying to figure out how you recognized me. It's been 23 years." He graciously replied, "You still look the same as you did in high school." To which I thanked him and told him he had just made my day. After a bit more catching up, we wished each other well and said goodbye.
A few days later I am running an errand for my mother. She has requested a certain type of lotion for her face. It reminds me of sending Pa out to buy coffee for me. I tell him that perfection for me would be "shade-grown, fair trade, organic, certified bird-sanctuary, swiss-process decaf and Ethiopian" but to please try and find one that matches at least three of those requirements. I now understand how he feels. I was completely overwhelmed with the choices for lotion. As Mary, Mr. Edwards, and I are standing there reading the different combinations of day/night, anti-wrinkle, beta-hydroxy, spf lotions, we are approached by a man who is obviously well-versed in the lotions. He soon has it narrowed down to two for us to choose from. I start to thank him, when the following exchange occurs.
Man: I bet you think that I look younger than you.
My thoughts go something like this: He looks about 55. No I am not thinking that he looks younger than me. I am actually thinking about how much I hate crowded big box stores and that I just want to get this lotion and get out of here. Before I can think of a way to end the exchange right here and now I hear myself talking.....
Ma: How old do you think I am?
Man: 38.
Ma: Close enough.
Man: Well how old do you think I am?
Ma:(being generous, I think) 48.
Man: (becoming very loud and hysterical and definitely making a scene) 48? Do I really look 48? That is 10 years older than I actually am. I'm 38! I'm 38! I'm 38! Everyone tells me I look 38.
Ma:(really wanting to extricate myself from this situation) I am so sorry. I am really terrible at guessing ages. I really should not have even attempted. I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you. Really I'm so sorry.
Man: (calming down) It's OK. I am not good at guessing ages either. Everyone really does tell me I look 38 though. The funny thing is that I am really 55 but everyone says that I look 20 years younger.
We finally go our separate ways, but I still keep thinking about how upset he got. He really did look to be in his 50's. Maybe in a different situation, he wearing something other than a t-shirt and shorts and far removed from the unforgiving fluorescent lights of a big box store, he would have indeed looked much younger. Obviously someone has told him that he looks very young for his age. He obviously treasures this revelation. In fact he treasures this news so much, that he actually believes that he is the younger age. He is insulted that I only shave 7 years off of his actual age. While I admit I was flattered by the long, lost high school friend of mine whose statement made my day, heck maybe even my whole year, I don't of course take it literally. He was being kind. He was making small talk.
And what is wrong with looking your age? I am determined not to waste any energy worrying about every new wrinkle, grey hair, or slowly but steadily southward bound body parts. I really don't want to miss out on what this stage of my life has to offer by hopelessly and desperately trying to recapture a bygone youth. Anyone else out there for aging gracefully?
3 comments:
Yes, actually, I am for aging gracefully. As long as I can still get my hair highlighted whenever I feel like a change, buy expensive make-up for the 2 days a week I decide to wear it, can still shop at Talbots, and still run around most day wearing farming / homeschooling clothes! I have recently reached the point that I am no longer carded - it coincided with turning 30. :-)
Oh yes, I'm all for aging gracefully. In my insecure moments I wonder if what I"m really doing is "letting myself go", but then I get over it. (Sometimes I get a haircut -- that usually takes care of the problem. :o)
I recently ran into a former high school classmate as well. As in your story, he recognized me; I would not have recognized him. (Maybe men change more beyond 17 or 18?)
How weird about that man in the store. When I worked at Bloomingdale's, there was a woman who came in frequently. She was quite wealthy and elderly, with a odd-looking face. She'd had so many plastic surgeries that her smooth fragile skin looked waxy and almost unreal. I'm sure the first 2 or 3 face lifts did indeed make her look more "attractive" in the conventional sense. But by age 90, she just looked desperate. Sad.
Stephanie
Hey homeschool farming mom (aka D-). No problem with any of that. If at 40, however, you decide to start dressing like a teenager and dyeing your hair bleach blonde, then I'll plan an intervention for you!:)
Hi Stephanie,
What a coincidence with the former high school classmates. I would have never in a million years recognized this guy just in passing. Once we started talking, however, I started to see the hints of the face I remembered from high school.
The 90 year old woman you describe is EXACTLY the kind of person I don't want to become. I feel like I spent a great portion of my youth wanting to look and be older that I just don't want to spend the second half of life trying to look young.
I'm glad I have a couple of graceful agers on board.
Kimberly
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