Life has a way of cruelly granting your wishes.
For instance, as kids, most of us couldn't wait until we got older. We daydreamed about all the wonderful things we would be able to do once we achieved the august age of 12, or 14, or 18. We used our excess mental capacity to generate brain waves that sped up time and made the anticipated age arrive at an accelerated pace.
Please do us all a favor: stop trying to hasten the passage of time! By my reckoning, time has now attained break-neck velocity. Each and every one of us should immediately stomp on our collective brakes.
Not that I will personally benefit. It's too late for me; I am already well on my way to curmudgeonly codgerdom.
There are many signs of this approaching affliction, the main one being the creeping leakiness of my memory. I had a couple of other signs in mind only a moment ago, but now cannot recall what they were.
I have a theory regarding memory. Our skulls are rigid, bottle-like vessels, right? Some may be thicker than others, but they are all basically inelastic containers.
And what happens when you try to overfill a bottle? Some of the stuff runs back out, doesn't it? So it is with our brains. As we grow older and accumulate more knowledge, room must be made. Otherwise, our heads would explode, or perhaps memories would leak messily out onto the living room floor.
This explains why I can be introduced to a person, then instantly forget his or her name. There simply isn't enough room in my brain; all free space is already occupied by such useless junk as the theme song for "Gilligan's Island."
We Baby Boomers have long been in denial about the passage of time. This is evidenced by the Boomer fad wherein certain ages are branded "new." It started out with 40 being declared the "new" 30; the latest incarnation is that 60 is now the "new" 40.
Where will it all end? Next thing you know, riding around on one of those motorized chairs will be hailed as the "new" cruising for chicks.
One group that has had a good amount of success with slowing the march of time is the Senior Olympians.
I recently learned that attaining the age of 50 is the only prerequisite for trying out for the Senior Olympics. This means that I could -- theoretically -- become a Senior Olympian in a year or so. I doubt that I will, unless they inaugurate such events as Marathon Channel Surfing or Burping While Scratching Your Manly Area.
I have a sister who is a Senior Olympian, so my wife and I went to watch her compete at the state level of the Senior Olympics. It was a real eye-opening experience. For example, my wife and I ran into an acquaintance who is a few years older than we. When asked if she was running that day, our acquaintance answered "No, but my dad is. He's 80, and is running with a pal of his who is 93."
Sort of blows your mental image of nonagenarians, doesn't it?
The competition at the Senior Olympics is just as fierce and serious as that of the regular Olympics. I hadn't seen so many and such intense game faces since Bingo night in the church basement.