The Oldest Young Person Ever

We were once told by our stepmother that we were the oldest young person she ever met. That conversation took place nearly 20 years ago. She'd cringe if she was around to see us now.

At 50, we find ourself on the cusp of senior citizenship. Our mailbox quickly fills with invitations to join AARP. We go to the doctor every three months and take pills. Lots of them. Occasionally - like today - we see a specialist like our cardiologist, whom we haven't seen since recovering from a heart bypass four years ago. At each meeting, we feel ashamed for not taking better care of ourself, but apparently not shamed enough to learn the error of our ways.

Must...exercise...just...a...few...more...minutes...UGH!

We've had a lifelong distaste for going to the doctor. As a young, omnipotent child we caught every childhood disease imaginable. If polio had recently been whipped, we'd probably have gotten that too. We were always being poked and prodded and we spent interminable amounts of time in our doctor's office in the company of a giant sailfish he caught on a vacation to the Bahamas. Damn shiny, blue bastard (the fish, not the doc)!

It seemed as if we got some sort of shot each week. Maybe the memory is exaggerated because this was in the day of non-disposable needles. If you're too young to remember, they were occasionally dull or had burrs on the ends from sharpening. I learned to hate the doc's office and learned to scream and cry any time we drove down the same street the office was on. We were a fervent believer in the prophylactic benefits of screaming away the doctor and his awful needles, but sometimes we were wrong and got poked (and screamed) anyway. Science is sometimes like that.

So today, we find ourselves feeling a bit old. Old because our body is wearing out well before the warranty says it should. Old because we feel weak at depending on pills to regulate our blood pressure, cholesterol, blood sugar, and daily mood. Old because we sometimes forget things. Old because sometimes we can't forget things. Old because we are reentering a prime demographic after several years spent in the useless 31-49 group. Old because we are apparently skipping middle age. Just where the hell is the midlife convertible and pneumatic blond arm candy anyhow?

We'd like to say that we're leaving the world in better shape than we found it, but there's scant evidence of that. We trying. We wheedle and write bombast, but the sad truth is we have to depend too much on morons and charlatans for the heavy lifting.

Now some of you might be wondering what has gotten into the Poobah. The answer is nothing. We feel this way quite often, probably in much the same way that those other deities feel about their creations from time to time. Disappointed, but not so bad they have to abandon them.

So, we'll throw a few lightning bolts, ruffle a few feathers, and repair to the Little Omnipotents' Room for a quick washup. We'll emerge fresh and clean, ready to exercise and eat right, and able to take on the stupidity of the world once more.

Watch out Cowboy George! Us and the posse's comin' after ya as soon as we can get rid of this crick in our omnipotent neck.

And the first thing we're gonna demand?

Universal health care and a fully funded Social Security because, dag nabbit, people oughta be able to grow old comfortably and without worry. We may be old, but we ain't dead. There are still some fights to fight.

Truth Told by Omnipotent Poobah, Tuesday, December 13, 2005