Shouldn’t the president be older, and other of life’s little mysteries
I’m turning 49 next month, which strikes me as a particularly pathetic age. You’re not old enough for anyone to coo sympathetically if you complain about a sore knee, but equally, no one’s inviting you over for Jell-O shots any more.
When I say I’m 49, I actually mean it. I’m not trying to pull the ol’, “I’ll tell everyone I’m 49 well into my 50s, wistfully hoping they’ll believe me” thing. First of all, let’s face it, it’d be kinda girlie. And second, while it’s cute and usually believable for a 32- or 33-year-old woman to tell people she’s 29, it just sad trying to convince people you’re 49, whether you’re a guy or a gal. I mean, what are you trying to pretend? That while you might be taking medication for your blood pressure, you still haven’t had a hip replacement? Sexxxyy!
What got me thinking about age, apart from my birthday — which some years back stopped bringing to mind the thought “presents!” and replaced it with “another year closer to death” — was suddenly noticing how young so many people were in jobs I’d always associated with wise, older people.
Take presumptive U.S. Republic vicepresidential nominee Paul Ryan. (There must be a “take my wife” joke in there somewhere.) No, seriously, take presumptive U.S. Republic vice-presidential nominee Paul Ryan. He’s 42.
This is a guy who, if Mitt Romney defeats Barack Obama in November, is only a single Just-For-Men accidental poisoning away from running the free world even though he only got his college degree in 1992.
How can someone seven years younger than me be a potential vice-president of the United States? John F. Kennedy was only 43 when he became president, so it’s not like young people haven’t served in the White House. But Kennedy had fought in a war, served in the U.S. Congress and Senate and even written (or secretly had his dad pay people to write) a couple of books. All Ryan’s done has been to whine about why women shouldn’t be allowed to have abortions and to work hard in Congress making life easier for rich Americans and rougher for everyone else. What a swell guy!
Obama was two years younger than me when he assumed office in 2009 and Bill Clinton was three years younger when he became president in 1992, which goes to show you that I should probably be focusing more on what I’ve been doing with my life.
This isn’t the first time I’ve suddenly found myself the age of people in jobs I once thought were reserved for my seniors. As a kid, I remember being in awe of hockey players, in particular Montreal Canadiens star goalie Ken Dryden. He seemed like a god, even though he was just 23 when he won his first Stanley Cup in 1971. I have shoes now that are older.
When the Canucks got to the Stanley Cup final in 1982, I was the age of an NHL rookie, but still younger than the majority of players, who all still seemed like giants; by 1994, when the Canucks nearly won again, I remember realizing I was older than most of the team. Now, NHL players — and certainly athletes at the recent London Olympics — are all just a bunch of punk kids. How the hell did everyone get so young?
My grandmother, who’ll be 100 on her next birthday, not too long ago told me that despite being trapped in a worn-out, 90-something body, inside her head she still felt like she was a young woman.
I know what she means — except the bit about being a young woman. Inside my head, I still feel 20-something, too, and think leaders of nations should be a generation or two older.
Getting back to being almost 49, and pathetic, do you know what I tried recently for the first time and actually thought was fun? Golf — a game that in my family has traditionally only been played by old farts no longer athletic enough for real sports.
Please, just shoot me now.