‘Push’n 50, but ya still got it!!’
When I was a kid, there were a lot of things I wanted to ask old people, but didn’t have the nerve. I’ll post some of them, since I have some “old friends” who have answered some of them for me. If you have questions, send them in and I’ll try to get some answers for you, too.
1. Do old people still have sex? Sure, thanks to pharmacology, if they can find someone willing, able, and blind or demented enough.
2. Why do old people drive so slow and park crazy? Most of them are retired and it doesn’t matter how long it takes them to park. Just be glad they didn’t scrape your fender on the way in to that space. They may have neck and back pain and stiff joints.
3. Why do old people dress so crazy? Why do kids dress crazy? They want to.
4. Why do old men grow hair on their noses and ears and old women get whiskers? All the energy that used to go into head hair and perky breasts gets rerouted when hormones play out. God forbid science extends life expectancy too much. We’ll all look like androgynous Brillo pads and be deaf as a stone.
5. Why do old people have such big noses and ears? Some body parts never stop growing. Unfortunately, this is usually limited to noses and ears, not something more appreciable. This big-eared looked is greatly enhanced by baldness and frizzy hair. The nose gets bigger to hold glasses up.
If you have questions, address them in comments. I’ll address them for you.
I have two younger sisters born seventeen months apart. I was about eight when Connie came along. Mother had told us she was expecting, but since I wasn’t interested in babies, I quickly put it out of my mind, not think thinking much more about it. I even socked one of my cousins for saying my mother was pregnant. I thought it was an insult like “trashy” or “low class.” I was shamed to no end when my aunt confirmed that my mother was indeed “pregnant” and the word meant “expecting.” Not only was Mother “pregnant!” She’d put me in a position to humiliate myself.
I found Connie very cute and entertaining once she got old enough to play. Always happy to play with her, I’d forsake her as soon as she cried or needed a diaper. Phyllis was a “little mother” and could care for Connie as well as Mother. When Connie was a year old, Mother and Daddy announced a second baby was en route. By now, I’d picked up a little misinformation and knew baby production involved the two of them. They’d “done it” though what “it” involved was very foggy. They’d alway said if I had any questions, come to them, so one day when Mother had her friends over for coffee, I asked if they’d had to do “it” more than five times to get five children. This clearly wasn’t the type question she meant. I guess questions about Sunday School were more to her taste. She invited me to mind my own business and not ask any more questions.
Pop..pop..pop..pop..pop..pop..pop…the percussion of Daddy’s belt flying out of his belt loops would have brought me out of a coma. Of his various approaches to discipline, “Spontaneous Combustion” was my specialty and the one I experienced most, being both clumsy and a smart mouth. Things could be rocking along just fine till someone – usually me – broke a dish, made a smart remark, or embarrassed Daddy. Though I never set out to be “smart-alecky”, I could always count on my big mouth. What I thought was funny, didn’t always amuse him. I carefully memorized jokes, even if they were way over my head, to tell at just the right moment. My judgment of the right moment was poor, such as when we had the preacher’s family over to Sunday dinner and I told loudly a joke I’d overheard on the school bus. Continue reading