I’m getting older — maybe I *am* older already, at 47. Of course, I’ll dream about being 47 again when I’m 80. But I can’t deny being at least middle aged, since not that many people live to be more than 94. I don’t feel that old, though my body certainly doesn’t rebound as well as it used to. I’m relatively young at heart and in mind, but a lot of people don’t see that. Quick story: One night last year, I heard the young college folks across the street having a little get-together. I could just barely hear them from my apartment; I stuck my head out and saw some of them skateboarding in the street and whatnot, all harmless stuff. Somebody was cruising the street looking for a place to park, so I made a neighborly offer. I went up to this one young guy standing in the street and said, “Hey, I live right there and that’s my car. I’m not going anywhere tonight, so if somebody needs to park behind me, it’s okay.” The guy smiled and nodded the whole time, and when I stopped talking he said, “Yeah, okay — and also, keep the noise down, right?” It was like, here comes the old guy to tell us to be quiet. Totally deflated my neighborly intentions. An assumption based on appearance completely erased the real verbal message.
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