Age

My body has reached an age at which my limbs often refuse direct orders from my brain and where my unshaven face looks something akin to a junkyard fence plastered with windblown litter.  I sometimes bump into my grade school friends on the street and think, after we part: “They looked like an old person!”

Until my body reminds me of my age by some form of operational glitch or outright failure, I often forget that I am old.  I don’t feel near as old as I considered my grandparents at my age.  Every so often, however, a child is kind enough to remind me of my age.  A few years ago, one of my coworkers brought his young son to work.  As the pair was leaving, the boy glanced up at his father and asked in concern, “Dad, if you come here and work with Mitch, are you gonna start looking old like him?

--Mitchell Hegman