Becoming an old man takes years of work. Trust me. You can’t just wake up one day and proclaim, “I am an old man.” That won’t get you the old-man certificate or even an introductory visit to the old-man clubhouse.

And even if you do declare yourself an old man, the definition seems to be a moving target. I grew up in the 1960’s. The mantra coming out of the peace and civil rights demonstrations during that time was “don’t trust anyone over 30.” Yup, you were already over the hill by 30. Thirty-one and you’re an old man. 

I don’t think so. 

On the other hand, today there is a book titled — 70 is the new 40. Does that make 40 the new 10?   

Again, not likely.

And then there is Sam the Barber. Sam Reese ran the barbershop on 42nd Street and University Avenue from the beginning of time.  

“Aging is a journey that many don’t experience. They were born old and they die old.” 

Sam is 80. He was always philosophical about life, but has only become more so as the years have passed.   

“Unfortunately, living a specific number of years is not the real gauge of ‘old.’ You are not old because you are not as handsome, or because your step is challenged, or because you have a different body ache daily,” says the handsome, lithe Sam the Barber.

Really? Old is all in your head? 

“It’s kind of crazy! I don’t see ME in the mirror. When I see a photo, I just say I’m not photogenic anymore.”

Then what is old, Sam?

“You are old when you can’t physically and mentally enjoy how wonderful life was when you fell in LOVE!”

Lord help me. And, by the way, Sam the Barber is a kindred spirit of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, a Nobel Prize winner in literature:

“To all, I would say how mistaken they are when they think that they stop falling in love when they grow old, without knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love.”

My oh my.  

Then there are those who believe that age is measured by a certain amount of loss. Loss of hearing, sight, bone and muscle. Loss of clear thinking  and memory. Loss of friends and society.   

That seems a bit of a downer.

Dr. Alfried Laengle argues that old age occurs when one is able to turn away from all the loss and turn inward and discover the unchartered territory of the inner world:

Ellyn Lym argues in the Washington Post that we become happier as we age:

“Research also has noted that the majority of people worldwide become happier as they age, perhaps because they accept inevitable changes that occur over time and develop appreciation for the good that remains in their lives.”

So maybe the happier you are, the older you are?

COVID-19 has provided all sorts of lines in the sand when it comes to age. The CDC says:

“In general, your risk of getting severely ill from COVID-19 increases as you get older. In fact, 8 out of 10 COVID-19-related deaths reported in the United States have been among adults aged 65 years and older.”

Sixty-four years and 364 days old and you’re safe. One more day? You might as well pack it in. I guess that’s old age during a pandemic. 

So, what is truly old age?

Got me. 

Although I do remember my grandpa at 94. He shaved every day. I know because I lived with him for a time. He would lower the suspenders attached to his pants, take his ironed shirt off, uncover his union suit, and shave with a straight razor sharpened on a leather strap. Talk about living on a razor’s edge.

I would watch this routine over a cup of coffee as I sat at the kitchen table waiting to call 911. Hopefully they would arrive in time to reattach an ear or a nose. But he never did slice anything off. To my amazement. 

My grandpa was an old farmer who didn’t miss planting and harvesting and caring for livestock. He passed his retirement watching the Kentucky Derby and ogling women. Oh, yes, and shaving with a straight razor. He finally died at 98.

Was he old? Depends on your definition. Did he give it a moment’s worry?

Nope.

Joe