BETWEEN THE LINES OF AGE
Aug. 7th, 2006 12:39 pmThe adjoining photo is among those taken last month at the Grass Roots Festival.
So I'm meeting some friends at their apartment before we go to a nearby club to hear the Wild Geese, a local Celtic band. I follow a bevy of what seem to be early twentysomethings/college-age types into the building. One or more of them apparently lives there, as they're unlocking the inside door as I search for my friends' number to page them.
So one of the kids turns to me and offers, "We can let you in, sir."
Sir?
OK, it's heartening to see respectful and gracious behavior on the part of young adults. And I've ranted, er, held forth, in this spot before about my dislike of undue familiarity on the part of strangers, especially younger strangers. These kids were speaking and acting in a decent, respectful manner, for which I should be pleased (and, really, am).
However ...
holy flaming pickled prunes, that made me feel old.
Just for a moment, of course. But, still. I'm just not used to being a "sir." Maybe, at 37, I should be. I usually don't feel 37; more like 28 or 29 or some such. Of course, sometimes I feel like I'm 138, so it all levels out, I suppose.
Don't mind me, I'm just babblin'.
Books: A Grief Observed (C.S. Lewis)
Sounds & Images: "Five Days in May" (Riverfolk)
State O'Mind: Old
So I'm meeting some friends at their apartment before we go to a nearby club to hear the Wild Geese, a local Celtic band. I follow a bevy of what seem to be early twentysomethings/college-age types into the building. One or more of them apparently lives there, as they're unlocking the inside door as I search for my friends' number to page them.
So one of the kids turns to me and offers, "We can let you in, sir."
Sir?
OK, it's heartening to see respectful and gracious behavior on the part of young adults. And I've ranted, er, held forth, in this spot before about my dislike of undue familiarity on the part of strangers, especially younger strangers. These kids were speaking and acting in a decent, respectful manner, for which I should be pleased (and, really, am).
However ...
holy flaming pickled prunes, that made me feel old.
Just for a moment, of course. But, still. I'm just not used to being a "sir." Maybe, at 37, I should be. I usually don't feel 37; more like 28 or 29 or some such. Of course, sometimes I feel like I'm 138, so it all levels out, I suppose.
Don't mind me, I'm just babblin'.
Books: A Grief Observed (C.S. Lewis)
Sounds & Images: "Five Days in May" (Riverfolk)
State O'Mind: Old