ALL MY KIDS ARE MIDDLE AGED

All My Kids are Middle Aged..


I was sitting with a friend at a local Starbucks. Our table was situated so that I was facing the counter and as I idly watched a young woman ordering a latte’ she asked, “Where are the napkins?”

Without looking up, he said, “Over behind the old guys.” She nodded and walked directly behind us, picked up the napkins and walked out of the shop. It was defining moment in my life.

I could see how they would label my white-haired friend as an ‘old guy’, but my hair was still ‘blondish.’ I guessed the clerk was talking about him.

A few days later, as we were walking out of church, the pastor’s wife commented on a new suit I was wearing. “I really like your suit, Ed. It goes so well with your hair.”

As we walked to the car, I asked my wife, “Do you think that this gray suit goes that well with my blonde hair?” She said, “You have to be kidding.”

I let it go, not wanting to correct her on a Sunday morning.

A few days later, one of our sons came by to visit and I made a comment about the bald spot starting to gain territory on the back of his head.
He laughed and said, “Like father, like son.”

I wanted to ask him what he meant by that but felt it was better for him to not talk about his balding any further.

Later, after he left, I asked my wife, “I wonder what he meant by ‘like father, like son.’ Funny remark, don’t you think?”

She shook her head from side to side and sighed deeply. “Come with me,” she commanded, taking me by the hand and marching me to the bathroom.

She took a large make-up mirror and held it to the back of my head. I jumped with a start. I had a bald spot twice the size of my son’s.

“When did that start?” I gasped. She smiled and said, “About ten years ago, when your hair turned gray.”

I left her there, smirking at me in the mirror and vowed to never use a mirror like that again. Easy enough for her to judge someone. Her hair seems to get darker every time she goes to the beauty parlor.

A few weeks later, the kids all came over for my birthday dinner. You feed them and they all come; wives, husbands and kids. I don’t know about you, but I really like having birthday parties and getting presents. Not big ones, mind you. I just like getting any presents. I can’t figure out why my wife avoids birthday parties.

I checked out my other sons and noticed that two others were facing the same problem as the first and was more than shocked to see that my youngest daughter’s hair was almost as gray as mine. By now I had spent enough time with my wife’s magnifying mirror to believe that I was at least starting to turn gray.

One of my grandsons gave me a gift he had wrapped himself. He hugged me and with a wide smile exclaimed, “It’s for you Poppa! Daddy and I picked it out.”

I opened it as he jumped up and down and I finally pulled out a new cap. Across the front, it read “Old Guys Rule.” Everyone laughed and clapped. I went to another package to sort of move everyone off that subject, and with my new cap on my head, pulled out a Tee shirt, picked up by one of the kids when they were in Hawaii.

The front of the shirt read, “Older than Dirt.” Everyone laughed. This wasn’t going well.

A few days later I received a call that ended it all. It was a fellow I knew from high school. He wanted to be sure I would attend our 55th class reunion.

“We old guys have to stick together,” he laughed. I sighed deeply.

I looked in the bathroom mirror long and hard that night. I finally figured it out. It really wasn’t me. It is just that all my kids are middle-aged.