Making middle age snicker-proof

Before we go any further, you have understand this: I’m not a dinosaur. I don’t have one foot in the grave or anything like unto it. Yes, a while back I was introduced to a group as “seasoned,” but, hey, I can forgive that. Salt and pepper I can live with.
But, boy, did I have one of those moments I wish I could take back. I forgot, just for a second, who I really was, or at least who I was surrounded by.
I was with a group of 20-somethings, the brightest and bubbliest of our rising generation, and they were planning a social activity. Well, let’s do this, some would say. No this or this, others argued. “Why not a ‘50s dance?” I chimed in.
For the next several moments, you could have tasted, cut and sliced, boxed and packaged the deafening silence. It was so quiet I could hear a faucet dripping down the hall, behind a double door. The ticking of clocks was almost overwhelming. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. And members of this group kindly and slowly pushed their jaws back up into normal position.
(Now, understand my thinking, won’t you? I was reviewing in my mind successful activities of this ilk that I had been involved in and it was only a couple years ago that my church group had a wonderful ‘50s dance … for people my age. This was the little fact that I somehow forgot, the fact that didn’t work its way through my gray matter before my tongue took over.
(A ‘50s dance to this group would have been like saying to my age group, “Hey, let’s have a ‘20s Dance.” A ‘20s Dance? Why would we do that? That’s, like, crazy. Yup, and, thus, the deafening silence and blank stares.)
I was reminded of this painful embarrassment — but learning experience — while sitting in a doc’s waiting room two weeks ago. In a well-worn magazine there, there was an article entitled “How Not to Act Old.” The author, Pamela Satran, said, as she introduced a list of suggestions: “The point isn’t to behave like a 26-year-old. It’s to learn how not to act like someone a 26-year-old might snicker at.” She believes folks like me ought to avoid doing things that are snicker-worthy, and to a certain degree, she has a point.
She suggested things like “unstrapping that Rolex.” No one wears watches anymore, she says, as a naked wrist is emblematic of youth. This I had not thought of. Folks like me, she said, need to practice flipping cell phones open with one hand, too.
She suggested never leaving messages on voice mail or recorders. Young people don’t leave messages. That’s an “old” thing to do. Twenty-somethings just figure that the other person will see their number in a list of missed calls and if they want to reach out they will. Urgent message? Send a text.
Not worrying about exact change is another of her biggies. If you are digging through your purse to get that penny or nickel or a couple of dimes you know is there, well, you’re acting old. Who knew, eh?
Cooking roast, according to Pam, puts you right square into the “old” category. I’m glad my mother and grandmother never knew this, by the way.
Never spout history. Anything that happened before 2001, she says, really doesn’t matter to the average youth or young adult. I’m slowly coming to grips with this one. If you are starting any conversation with “where were you when (something important) happened …” or “I remember when…”, well, give it up. Save it for someone who cares.
Her little summary list got me to thinking about suggestions I might make to, well, my generation as to how not to appear old to those who have no idea what the term “long in the tooth” even means. For all I know she covers some of these in her book — I haven’t read it — but maybe we can learn together.
Here’s the one I have to work on: Don’t yell into the cell phone. Those of us who didn’t grow up with the dang things still don’t like the sound of them, don’t like the echo and gap in timing while talking, still consider them more of a walkie-talkie than a phone. For whatever reason I can’t keep a normal voice while talking in them. I have a friend — my age — that nearly chases you out the room with his yelling when he answers his cell phone. We have got to learn to tone it down. Shhh.
Don’t call that thing hanging in their ears a “Walkman.”
Don’t try to explain that episode of M*A*S*H that something just reminded you of. M*A*S*H was a big part of your life, fine, but is absolutely nothing now. Same goes for Johnny Carson and Columbo. There is no connection whatsoever. Don’t even try.
Don’t call it “tin foil.” In fact, you might want to get over your need to wrap and cover and even use aluminum foil. This group is way past that. Besides not believing in leftovers, they have little individual thingies for this activity. Oh, and don’t call them “Tupperware.” That’s so 20th century.
I know you’ve done this one: They are not “records.” Yes, they are round and they play music, but don’t make this slip. They are not even “albums.”
Be patient. These kids that don’t care will soon have a generation behind them that doesn’t care. And then they will come armed with tape recorders — or whatever magical thing will exist then to hold memories — to tap into you and me. Because in everyone’s life — even Pam Whatshername’s — there’s a time when old is important and not to be snickered at.