“Sir, can you take another photo, this time don’t cut off our feet?” a twenty-year-old woman said.
A teenager called me grandpa. A thirty-something guy referred to me as “elder.”
That evening at home, I said to my wife, “Sir! Grandpa! Elder! I’m not going back. I’m too old.”
But the next day, I did go back and was bopping my head to the music.
Two twenty-year-old couples were dancing next to me. One of the guys whispered something to the others. They all looked at me and laughed. He asked, “you having a good time, old man?”
I stopped bopping to the music. It felt like a punch to my gut. I wanted to leave.
But Grace Jones was on stage next. I knew she was 76, more than 20 years older than me. I felt like I needed to be her ally, and that she needed to show this young crowd that we aren’t dead yet.
Grace Jones stood atop a 30-foot-tall dress and sang. The crowd went wild.
She had tears running down her cheeks. I don’t know why, but I like to imagine it was the same reason I had to wipe the tears from my face.
We can’t go back in time to relive our youth. But we don’t have to. Just don’t let anyone convince you that you’re old.
With a Perspective, I’m William Humnicky.
William Humnicky misses impromptu conversations with strangers. He looks forward to hearing your story.
