Coming of Age

 I was placing my groceries on the belt at Harris Teeter: toilet paper, red wine, salad greens…  “Did you find everything you needed?”, asked the clerk. “Yes”, I answered reflexively—although obviously everything I needed was not to be found in the aisles of Harris Teeter.  

 “Paper or plastic?” was his next question.   “Paper”, I say, as usual. It’s much easier to recycle.  Then, he hit me with a completely unexpected question: “Are you eligible for our senior discount”? “No”, I answered feeling a bit insulted.   W-h-a-t????  I was barely into my fifties. Do I look like an old lady??? I guess anyone over 50 looks old to these young people.  And yet, I was unsettled by his question.  When I got home I posted on Facebook:  “Today—a milestone—the grocery clerk at Harris Teeter asked me if I qualified for their senior discount!! Do I really look that old???”   My friends were quick to reassure me.  “They asked you that because it’s Thursday.  Thursday is the senior discount day”.  Aha!  So, if it’s Thursday, you must be a senior.  Not just a random “you look old—want a discount?”

But when DOES one actually cross the line and become a senior citizen?  My son kept telling me after I turned 50 that I wasn’t “middle aged” anymore, because I was well past the middle of my life.  Now you’re an “old person”, he teased.

When I turned 13, I had a Bat Mitzvah. When I finished high school I had a graduation.   When I got married, I had a wedding.  When I became a mom, I went through childbirth.    All of these life phases had rites of passage-- the crossing of a threshold, then entry into a new phase of life.   Not so, with becoming a senior citizen.

The first time I ACTUALLY qualified for a senior discount I was 55.  I learned, to my surprise, that I could get a discounted membership to the Triangle Sportsplex and decided to take advantage.  To do that, I had to walk into the Senior Center, register and take a fitness test.   It felt odd to be in there.  The Senior Center is for the elderly, after all.   The woman at the desk mentioned something called a “Silver Sneakers” class that was free. “Medicare covers it”, she explained.  What?  No, not me! I’m just passing through, jumping through hoops to get my discount.   I really just want to use the swimming pool!

Around this same time, I went to a movie at the Chelsea Theater.  “One senior”, said my friend, as he approached the ticket window.   I happened to know he was only 58.  You have to be 60 to qualify as a senior for the Chelsea.  His actions reminded me of the time when my best friend bought a child’s ticket at the theater, even though she technically was supposed to pay the adult price.  “But Kim, you’re 12.  You’re an adult!”  I blurted in front of the clerk.  Personally, I was proud to say the words “one adult” when I plunked down my money.  She was mad at me afterwards.  So I knew better than to open my mouth.  I waited until Paul and I were out of earshot of the desk.  “They never check”, he assured me.  Apparently, he was fine with identifying as a senior, whether he actually was one or not.

  If you are old enough to “pass” as a senior does that make you one?   Or maybe you start to become a senior at age 50 when you get the infamous letter from AARP?    Is it at 55 when you are eligible for that Sportsplex discount and can even withdraw money from your IRA without penalty?  Or is it 60 when you qualify for reduced rates at the Chelsea or at Harris Teeter on Thursdays?  Is it 62 when you can first access Social Security?  Is it when your hair turns gray?  When you become a grandparent?  Is it when you retire?  When you first start having chronic aches and pains? Is it the first time you walk out into a parking lot and realize you have no earthly idea where you left your car?   I have currently achieved some—but not all of these milestones. 

Last spring, I celebrated my “Beatles” birthday.   “Will you still need me, will you still feed me—when I’m 64?”  I must have been around 10 years old when I first heard those lyrics--about a time so far in the future that it could never happen to me!  It certainly was odd, and kind of fun to achieve this particular milestone—even though the lyrics really don’t really fit me even now.   Although I confess, I’m losing some of my hair, there is no one to need me or feed me or vice versa.   “Every summer we could rent a cottage in the Isle of Wight, if it’s not too dear.  We shall scrimp and save.  Grandchildren on your knee—Vera, Chuck and Dave”.    I’m not a grandmother and I work 6 days a week, so—although I have been known to scrimp and save occasionally, I can’t occupy my time with “knitting a sweater by the fireside” or “digging the garden, pulling the weeds”.   Maybe when I’m 67 and a half, old enough to get my full Social Security benefits and actually retire I’ll become a bonafide senior…

During the lockdown last year, as vaccines first became available, friends and neighbors eagerly told me about getting on waiting lists and waiting on hold for hours to successfully sign up for their shots.  “Have you gotten yours yet?”, they asked.  “No, I’m not old enough yet”, I replied a bit jealously.   Although it made no sense that someone a year older than me was eligible and I was not, it still bothered me a little that everyone just ASSUMED I was that old.  I wasn’t and am not 65 yet.    

This spring, I will finally achieve that milestone, as I celebrate my “Medicare” birthday.  Already I’m being inundated with mail and offers from various insurance companies about Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, Plan D, Plan K, Plan X or Plan Z.   When it first started happening, I felt confused and quite overwhelmed.  I asked my doctor about it during my annual physical.   “Check at the Senior Center”, she advised me, “they have free classes where they explain it all to you.  You can even meet one on one with a counselor who has nothing at stake and is not trying to sell you anything.”  When I heard this, I actually felt tears of relief!  I had always assumed that the Senior Center was more like an adult day care for people who have nowhere else to go.  You mean there are services there that an actually benefit me?  Wow!

This time, when I entered the Senior Center, it was with a sense of anticipation.  I was there to take control of my healthcare and learn something important that could make a real difference in my life.  Maybe there’d even be a cute older man in my Introduction to Medicare class!  Well, there wasn’t—but I did get at least a more basic understanding of a very complicated issue—and I learned how to sign up for the counseling.

I found myself actually picking up a copy of the “Senior Times” on my way out the door and perusing the classes listed there with interest.  

So, that’s how I’ve come to spend Monday and Thursday mornings at the Seymour Center, doing squats and lunges, and “rows” with a 10 lb. barbell.   When I first signed up, I had been a little worried that the class would be for frail elderly who sat in chairs the whole time and struggled to raise one-pound weights above their shoulders.  But as I walked down the hall, who should I see but my dear friend Nancy?!

I first met Nancy over 30 years ago in a prenatal swim class.  She had a beautiful full belly that I was envious of.   I wasn’t showing on our first day, and I felt a little bit like maybe I wasn’t truly qualified for the class.   Nancy assured me that yes, I did belong and that it would be obvious in just a few short weeks.   This was the beginning of a close friendship that has lasted through the years.

I hadn’t seen Nancy in some time.  Here she was, in the class before mine—dancing Nia-- practically glowing as she shimmied her shoulders and circled her hips.   She looked beautiful, strong, and sexy with her flowing white hair and her colorful leggings and tunic.   I felt as if she was leading the way again—saying “yes, you belong”.

The strength training class is a good fit for me-- challenging enough so that I feel I’m getting a workout but not intimidating.  I don’t have to feel self-conscious about how I look, or what my body can or can’t do anymore—since everyone around me is basically in the same boat.

And sometimes, on Thursdays after class I stop in at Harris Teeter to pick up a few groceries.  I automatically get the senior discount.  No one even asks me anymore!