As I draw nearer to the outer edge of middle age, I find myself more and more puzzled by the attitude of young-adult/pre-middle-age people. They seem to think old people are fragile. I don’t mean physically. Somehow, they have the idea that we become more easily upset and offended as we get older. This really puzzles me, even as I admit to thinking that myself in my younger days.  

How do they think we got to be old? Do they think we were newly-rehatched at 50?  Do they think all those years in between childhood and maturity didn’t happen? Or that they no longer mean anything? Where is the logic?

You know how you pulled crazy stunts in high school and college? Well, you’re going to be old one day, too. Are you still going to be the one who pulled those crazy stunts? So, why do you seem to think your elders never did that stuff?

I heard a story about this boy bringing his girlfriend home from college with him for Christmas. She had several piercings in body parts other than ears and everyone was worried about how grandma would react.  Grandma smiled and said, “Oh, my! You’re all decorated for Christmas!” And everybody thinks, “Wow! Cool granny! We got lucky.”

No, you didn’t get lucky. The older you get, the more you realize that little things like that Just. Don’t. Matter. You want fluorescent pink hair? That’s your way of expressing yourself? Great! Beautiful color. You want to go Goth? Terrific. We don’t care! We love seeing your creativity, your individuality. You think dating out of your race is going to shock us? Think again.

You do not reach the age of 40 without having had at least one broken heart you
 were sure you would never recover from. You don’t get to 50 without having almost died at least once. You don’t get to 60 without starting to see people who you just assumed would always be there because they always had been, disappear. 

And you think you can shock us with a magenta mohawk? Get over yourselves.