Milestone birthdays were never a time to stop and reflect. The younger ones -- 25, 35 and even 40 -- were fun. By the time I reached 50 and 55, my age was "just a number."
When I turned 60, we had celebrated Mariana's first birthday a few weeks earlier. So it made sense to be that age and a grandfather.
Sixty-five was a badge of honor. I survived to a truly milestone moment - an opportunity that not everyone I've known has been lucky enough to achieve.
That was two years ago and lately it feels like I've moved into a different neighborhood.
Case in point. We were at a nearby town pond not too long ago and the lifeguard dropped his two-way radio. Being a good citizen, I picked it up and handed it back.
As I walked away, I heard him contact his counterpart a few yards away to report that an "old guy" had returned it.
An old guy?
Was he talkin' about me?
As I settled into my beach chair and relayed the story, Mari -- always quick to keep me grounded -- said: "Well, you are 67. That's kinda old."
(I should point out that some of us have yet to reach the big 6-0.)
I've noticed that lately people are calling me sir or Mr. Sennott more often than they used to. Or the dreaded "honey," as you pay for your groceries.
I cringe when people refer to senior citizens, especially when they're amazed at the ability to use technology.
Age is a funny thing. It changes us, but we often don't notice the differences in ourselves or those who we know or see on a regular basis. Hair color may be different by design or default. We may gingerly walk down the stairs in the morning waiting for our knees to loosen up. The conga line of medications that keeps us healthy gets a little longer.
But to us, we're still more or less the same.
Though, I wonder what others see.
Like Mariana. Does she see the person I find in the mirror every day?
Or, does she just see an old guy?
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