Apparently, I'm Officially an Old-Timer

Yes, I have joined the Burlington Old-Timers Slo-pitch League.

At 37, I just make the lower age cutoff of 35. Jeez, I don’t FEEL like an old-timer, but apparently, I am. It’s the best run league in the city, so it was the logical choice, but what’m I going to talk about with a bunch of old farts who refer to cars as “horseless carriages,” wax nostalgic about the reign of Queen Victoria, and think my iPod is the work of Satan?

I’ve always felt young. At work I’m the youngest person in my job type or anything near it. Always have been, for years now. I married a younger woman, which paradoxically makes you feel younger because, hey, check out my hot wife. So I found this being in an old-timers league confusing. I looked in the mirror and realized with horror that I am starting to look like my Dad, who is so old I think he went to the same school as Julius Caesar. I’m terrified of becoming one of those old coots at Tim Horton’s. Every Tim Horton’s has one or two tablefuls of grizzled old mossbacks who show up at 6:30 AM, groan into a seat, and drink coffee and bitch about the government. My Dad is one of them. They all have baseball caps inexpertly perched on the very top of their heads, unless it is winter, when some of them will wear comical winter hats. They all wear beige windbreakers too. Oh my God, I have a beige windbreaker.

When I spoke to the captain of my new team he asked my age and remarked, “You’re the young pup, huh?” So maybe I’m not so old.

Still… Holy moly.

37? Just STFU, ok? I’ve got an onion in my belt, and I know how to use it!

Do you realize how many wise, witty, intelligent, and insightful “old” people post on this board? I think it’s like everything else; you regard them as individuals, and not stereotype the whole group. And remember that even if they were all young like you, there would be some you’d like, some who’d bore you, and some who’d annoy you to no end. IOW it’s not the age that makes them unappealing; it’s their personalities. Of course there can be boring and cranky old people, but there are also some who are an absolute joy. The age is just not the deciding factor.

BTW even when I was a kid I had a knack for finding and engaging the most delightfully charming old people. I think it’s amazing to have lived through the early part of last century to see where we’ve come to now. And I love hearing their stories, and seeing the world through their eyes. That’s not to say I like every old person I meet, but I always keep my eyes open so I don’t pass up the good ones. You’ll find those “old” gems by keeping an open mind, and then the encounters are precious treasures.

Also, I’m 53 and feeling really old myself. But a couple of my best friends are in their 80s. They tease me mercilessly about being such a young “baby.” So you might have to accept that those in your new league will forever view you as just a young sprout.

Where did you buy it? The Official Old People store?
Velcro tennis shoes are next, bub. You don’t buy them, they just show up in your closet.

37? Kwitcherbellyakin!

I knew I was over the hill when I got my first senior discount at age 55, and the sign said it was age 60 and up. :frowning:

One of the great joys of my life these days is receiving recruitment material from AARP.

My wife gets those!

(Granted, it’s due to some mailing list error that she’s called about before, complaining that she shouldn’t be receiving AARP info. We think it’s her membership to Better Homes and Gardens selling our address. She’s 25.)

I remember the first time I was mistaken for my dad. It was by one of his best friends… and I was 21! Granted, the lighting in that room was really bad, and I do look like my dad*, and have similar facial hair, but still it was quite a shock.

*Or so says anyone who knows him, but don’t know my mom. On the other hand, anyone who only knows my mom says I look like her. I’ve seen pictures of both my grandfathers when they were young and they both look just like me.

Perhaps they were brothers. :stuck_out_tongue:

I’ve been at my job for close to nineteen years and at 41 I’m still one of the five youngest people in my general classification ( out of maybe 60 ). Maybe bottom three in my specific classification ( out of maybe 45 ) and easily the youngest at my particular facility ( out of seven ).

I have friends ( in their thirties ) that have worked in offices staffed overwhelmingly with twenty-somethings and I simply cannot relate. Just the idea of working with young, energetic, fresh-faced go-getters, who haven’t yet been broken by the weight of the world, vaguely intimidates me :p. I’ve worked with mostly ( bitter, cranky ) old coots since the day I was hired and, barring loss of job, will work with mostly old coots until the day I retire as an old coot.

So cheer up - once again you are the youngest guy on the block and there is something to be said for that.

Aside: My own shuddery moment of aging came several years ago when I noticed one day that my father ( who at the time I saw only a couple of times a year ) had developed a small forest in his ears. Involuntarily I reached up to mine and was horrified to discover I was growing a few hairs there myself. I’ve been plucking my ears obsessively ever since :D.

I got a good trimmer. I can’t stop my body from degrading but I refuse to have tufts of hair sticking out of gross places on my face.

::James Earl Jones::

*Old people will come, Rickjay. They’ll come to Burlington for reasons their wives can’t fathom. They’ll turn in the gravel lot in immaculately kept towncars, feeling like aged fools. They’ll look out over the diamond like ancient children, eyes wet in mourning for the past. “Of course, we don’t mind if you tool around,” you’ll say. “It’s only $20 per team.” They’ll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it’s money they have and youth they lack. And they’ll walk out to the outfield on grating knees and toss in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. Their children and grandchildren will watch with fingers hooked in the chainlink fence along the baselines, clutching Papa’s nitroglycerin pills, as they stood when they were children and cheered their heroes.

And they’ll play the game and it’ll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be thicker even than the scent of wintergreen salve, so thick they’ll have to brush them away from their faces. Old people will come RickJay. The one constant through all the years, RickJay, has been softball. The years have rolled over them like an army of steamrollers. Their bodies have been broken and rebuilt and broken again. But softball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, RickJay. It reminds us all that we once were young and it could be again, if only for a moment. Old people will come RickJay. Old people will most definitely come.
/::James Earl Jones::

Incensed ducks and runs his 26 year old ass out of the thread.

That was beautiful.