Today It's "Kids," Tomorrow It's Whipper-snappers

The term "Kids" usually connotes people young enough to be in young and still play on jungle gyms.

Regardless of age, if you call the aforementioned group of individuals kids, you're okay.

However, you know you're old when you call people who are old enough to drive kids. You know you're really old when you call people old enough to drink kids.

The other day, through the window of my apartment, I saw a group of people walking old enough to drink. As they were goofing off, I called them kids.

These are individuals old enough to buy me a drink and I'm referring to them as kids.

I had no other recourse but to bury my head in my hand and wish for death.

The Fog of Road

The other night, I faced with a dilemma when I was leaving my father’s home.

It was dark and extremely foggy. My father lives out in the country and even on clear nights, the drive from his house to my apartment is long and arduous.

They way I looked at it I had three options:

1) Take the safest route way home, which is also the longest, and drive slowly.
2) Take the short cut (narrow, serpentine, back roads) and drive as fast as I would normally drive in daylight (it’s just fog, it’s no big deal).
3) Stay at my father’s house until the fog passes.

The first option is old people. The second option is for young people. Guess which one I choose?

I was so embarrassed.

It’s just driving and it’s just fog, but I couldn’t endure it; I didn’t have the mettle. It’s one of the text book definitions of old: the inability to drive at maximum speed regardless of driving conditions.

Roads are meant for people to get from point A to point B as fast as humanly possible—if you can’t drive a car and meet those standards than you’re old. It’s time to pull over and young people, who know how to drive, have the roads.

Thankfully, I’m not to the point where I needed to pick option three. When that happens, put me in an assisted living facility.

Directions

Even though I’m old, I’m not that old. I say that because I have yet to succumb to one of the main pillars of old age—the need for driving directions. Now it may be the folly of the microscopic amount of youth I still have left or just a product of a neurosis, but I deplore directions—can’t stand’em! I hate giving them, receiving them or reading them. If you don’t know how to get somewhere, you shouldn’t be going. You should innately know how to get to from point A to point B. It doesn’t matter if you’re in your hometown or in a strange city, intimate knowledge of a conurbation’s infrastructure should be instinctive! I may be a little bold in holding this belief but I’m also never lost.