The Old Coot is
Peachy-pie, sometimes.
By Merlin Lessler
I've taken on a new
moniker, several actually – Sweetie-pie – Honey – Dearie – Sweetheart – Peachy-pie
– Cutie and the like. Every place I go, I'm a: Sweetie-pie” person.
It’s an old man thing. For a long time, I was just an old guy, a “Sir,” a “Mister,”
a “Senior.” I accepted that persona over the years; I embraced my “old guy”
designation and converted my internal identity. I referred to myself as the Old
Coot, probably a little before I really needed to. I was an old coot prodigy.
Now, without being aware of it, I've transitioned to a new level and have been inducted
into the “sweetie-pie” Club. [I Walk funny, I stumble a bit, I wobble, I
operate with reduced muscle mass, I squint, I creak.]
I’m a full-fledged old
man and a full-fledged member of the “sweetie-pie” club, a wrinkled, bent,
object of sympathy (some call it pity). I’m addressed as Sweetie-pie, and similar
endearing terms. It’s nice, on the surface, to be treated in this kindly fashion.
It's just that it snuck up on me when I wasn't paying attention. I've thought of
myself as an old coot for so long I didn't notice this new phase until the curtains
on life’s stage pulled aside to reveal this new version of me to the audience.
It’s nothing new, this
being surprised by life’s passages. I was shocked in my early twenties when I
started being addressed as Sir and Mister and Mister Lessler by people just a
few years younger than me. My wife thought it was a riot, until she got called
ma’am for the first time. Now, I’m surprised all over again, as the Misters
have exited stage left and Sweetie-pie has taken center stage.
These life milestones
come as a shock to most of us, but I’m not going to complain about this
Sweetie-pie stage of my life. The next designation is, “The late Mister Lessler.”
I won’t be aware of it, but somehow, I’ll still resent it. It’s what old coot
do; we slip off the stage, but our complaints live on forever.
Comments, complaints?
Send to mlessler7@gmail.com
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