The Old Guy

I never paid much attention to my age as the years have rumbled on.

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?

Sure, I live on Cape Cod. But...

We've lived on Cape Cod for years. We moved here when our daughter was three. She's now 29. It's been a lifetime.

In the early years, we regularly went to the beach; spent time in the backyard pool that came with the house; enjoyed the sunsets, and did the best we could to live the life that people think Cape Codders have.

We entertained. Did we ever. The first couple of years it seemed that a weekend didn't go by when we didn't have visitors from somewhere off Cape.

We even told both our old friends and new Cape ones that if the weather got really hot to feel free to use our pool, even if we weren't home. I know our offer was sincere, but we really didn't think the invitation would ever be accepted.

Until one very hot July 3rd.

I worked off Cape and as I drove down our street I wondered, who was having the big party and why we weren't invited. But, when I couldn't park in my own driveway, I realized where the party was.

The pool was jammed. Our back deck was crammed. I was immediately sent on a beer and burger run.

In time, the novelty of our living on Cape Cod wore off for both our friends and us. The steady stream of visitors stopped. We settled into a more typical, daily routine. I kept working in Providence and points beyond. My wife got her real estate license.

Eventually we started taking vacations as far off Cape as we could. Too much traffic; too many tourists; too strong a temptation for Mari to stop by the office on days off.

Some years it was August before we went to the beach. If at all.  I began telling anyone who asked about life on Cape that our subdivision and weekly routine was really no different from anyone's anywhere else.

Until these last few months.

My classes moved on line. Mari's real estate office closed and she began working remotely. Our second grader granddaughter started having daily class zoom calls and on line assignments.

Fortunately, the weather wasn't great when the stay-safe-at-home order went into effect, so there was no real temptation to go out. Not that there was anywhere to go.

Snake Pond

But, as the weather improved, we began sitting on our deck again. We filled our bird feeders. We took long rides to get take out and sat in the car by a beach to eat it.

When restrictions eased, we found ourselves at a Town pond less than ten minutes from our house. It was a spot that we could have easily visited countless times over the years, but hardly ever did.

We re-discovered why we moved to Cape Cod all those years ago.

To suggest that going to the beach and watching backyard birds are COVID-19 silver linings would be more than a little shallow. But given the capriciousness of the virus, the message to slow down and appreciate where you are, what you have, and who you share it with is a lesson that too many of us needed.

When we finally settle in to the last of the new normals, let's not forget.