Yesterday I helped my neighbor cut down some trees and trim some bushes. The trees we cut down were on my side of the fence, but the branches were growing over his roof. So I agreed to help take them out.
When we were done I told him I was feeling every day of my age. I am younger than him, but not by much. He's 73 and I have yet to crack 70. Barring a heart attack from heavy labor I might just make it. I went inside my house, took a couple of Aleve and assumed a supine position on my couch. I picked up a book to read: THE QUESTIONABLE MAD, one of dozens of paperbacks with reprints from old issues of MAD. Flipping the pages I came upon a feature I am very fond of, “If Comic Strip Characters Were as Old as Their Comic Strips." In 1962 when I read it in MAD #72, I was a lad of 15.
So the satire made me laugh, as it always does when I see it. I believe my laughing is now more from familiarity with the aging experience. Obviously when I was 15 it was funny that comic strip characters who never aged would become old. But me becoming old was never considered. I never saw myself as — yeccccch! — a senior citizen. And yet, here I am.