The following column is the opinion and analysis of the writer:
Late last summer I turned 65. To celebrate I chained a bench to the mesquite tree in our front yard, raked gravel, yelled at a βpunkβ javelina to get off my dead lawn, powerlifted a Sonoran hot dog and sprained my entire body.
Aging is not for the old. I noticed this when I started going to lunch with my fellow 60-plus geezers. All we talk about are death and disease. I donβt remember talking about death and disease quite so much when I was 6 at lunch in the cafeteria.
βDid you hear? Tommy. Skinned his knee.β
βNo. How old was he? Four? Pablo had an asthma attack!β
βPoor Pablo. Jimmyβs in the hospital.β
βNo! Didnβt he just turn 5? So young! What was it?β
βTonsils.β
βTonsils are the first to go.β
βI lost a tooth last week. Just fell out!β
βJoey fell. Thatβs what I heard. Off his bike. Frankie howβs your pee-pee?β
βDoc said itβs all good. Yours?β
βItβs good. I had a good No. 2 this morning.β
βMe, too!β
βMe, too! Letβs order.β
This is how we grown men talk.
βIn whose name is your reservation?β
βProstate Roundtable.β
Todayβs special will be Charlieβs Bursitis with a side of Buckβs Melanoma. The Soup? Carlosβ Colitis. And for dessert: Paulβs Prostate Numbers.
βCan I bring you gentlemen anything? Medicare supplemental plans? Burial insurance? Brochures from the Neptune Society?β
βIβll have the Metamucil cocktail. Make it dirty with two ibuprofen.β
βYour age is just a number,β says Charlie. Uh huh. Try telling the cop who asks you if you know how fast you were going: βOfficer, a number is just a number.β Try telling St. Peter at the Pearly Gates when he asks you if you knew how high your PSA was: βA number is just a number.β
βI canβt stop doing the math,β said Carlos. βIn 20 years Iβll be 85. If I stop sinning and enjoying my life now, I figure Iβll be able to not enjoy the decades of life that I have left β in good health.β
βWhat? How many Metamucil cocktails have you had?β
The waiter asks if we want bread. We looked at each other as if the evil temptress asked us if we wanted carbs, calories, sugar and premature death due to freshly baked gastronomical pleasure. Carlos caved.
As we dine we turn on each other. βBuck, is it true youβre so old Coronado went to a high school named after you?β
βHenry, I hear youβre so old Doc Holliday gave you your first colonoscopy.β Colon health is our favorite lunchtime topic while eating.
βYup. He used laudanum and a drill from the Copper Queen Mine. Fitz here can remember when Old Tucson was called New Tucson. Werenβt you here when Reid Park was Jurassic Park?β
Weβre comfortable in our own skins. I am. For one thing itβs a loose fit at my age.
Buck told us about his favorite new dispensary, Orthopedica. βThey got strains like Scooter, Old Spice, Mellow Yoda, White Light and Medicare Plan THC. A mortician friend told me so many seniors have weed cards that he always masks up during cremations to avoid the contact high.β
I love my friendsβ stories but I gotta go home, check the mail and forward the cremation flyers to the estate planners. With our summer heat who needs a cremation plan? When I go, leave me on a bus stop in July so the sun can incinerate me into Old Pueblo powder. Let a passing haboob carry my ashes away.
Pete told us about his tour a new assisted living facility-slash-casino. Their slogan: βEvery dayβs a crapshoot for our residents.β
βI told my wife, βIf Iβm ever incapacitated pull the plug. And make it look like an accident. I wouldnβt want you to get blamed.ββ
Henry asked, βWhat did she say?β
βDonβt worry. No one would ever blame me.β
Charlie told us about the free βIntro to Medicareβ class he took at the Pima Council On Aging. βI learned there are 4,788,271,556 Medicare plans. Thereβs Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, Plan DDT, Plan STP, Plan ZZTop and for boomers, Plan CBD.β
βTime to go. Good lunch, fellas. Good luck with your probes this week. Your EDs, STDs and EKGs. Love you guys.β
On my way out Henry said, βI was looking at myself in the mirror when I was surprised to see my fatherβs face staring back at me.β
βAre you sure it was your dadβs face?β
βIβd recognize it anywhere. Stray nostril hairs. Long as kitty whiskers. Neck like a tortoise. Thatβs him. Iβm as old as my dad. Itβs not possible. Canβt be me. Iβm still 7 years old between the ears.β
βMe, too,β I said. βI hear tonsils are the first to go.β