Definition of old is a moving target

Okay, class, here’s a problem for you: Define “old.”

You may think you know what it is, but, trust me, it truly is a moving target.

When you’re a kid, you want to be older. When your knees start hurting, you want to be younger.

And in between you just have to figure it out by yourself.

My wife and I sometimes find ourselves playing a kind of game when we’re in public places like an airport or a ballpark or a shopping mall.

Is that person over there our age? Or is that person older than we are? Or younger than we are?

Chances are, whatever we guess will be wrong.

A good friend tells me he and his wife sometimes go to Walmart late at night just to check out the other shoppers. It tends to provide a boost to their self-esteem.

But age is another story.

We all tend to think of ourselves as youngish, no matter how old the calendar says we are. And we all tend to think of the grownups of our childhood as ancient, no matter what the reality.

Those truths came home a week or so ago when my high school graduating class held what was billed as a “70th birthday party.” All of us in the class will at some time or another in 2018 hit that not-so-magic number.

But none of us think of ourselves as particularly old, and the group that turned up for the party looked pretty darned good.

Sure, there was a little wear and tear here and there. The miles had taken their toll. But few of us felt like 70, maybe because we didn’t know what 70 is supposed to feel like. We couldn’t put our finger on “old.”

It’s all relative, we told ourselves. We’re above ground. We’re still pretty much intact. We’re not at all like those grownups we’d encountered back in high school, those fossils, those dinosaurs.

And then something happened.

Earlier that same week, I’d attended a memorial service for my friend and former employee Jim Ridgway. And after the American Legion honor guard gave the service real meaning, I chatted with Glen Bryant.

He’d been my driver’s education teacher back in high school, so I invited him to the class of 1966 70th birthday party.

And he sho­wed up. He not only showed up. He also brought along Bob Freemyer — the Hoosier Buckeye — who had been an extremely influential math teacher during those high school years.

Class members — those folks turning 70 this year — were thrilled. Lots of handshakes and hugs and laughs.

Then I asked Glen the question: How old is Bob?

Answer: 88, the same age as Glen.

And I immediately thought, how is that possible?

If Bob Freemyer and Glen Bryant are 88, when my classmates and I were 17 or 18 years old, both of those teachers would have been in their mid-thirties.

How is that possible? Back in high school, both those teachers seemed to us teenagers as — forgive me — old.

Now, the distinction between my age and theirs seems miniscule.

So, class, tell me again: How do you define old?