Who are you callin’ old?


A little story about growing old…

(Warning: This is no fairytale!)

Today I drove an hour to the Girl Scout Sailing Camp so that my daughter could complete her sailing instruction and earn her Mariner’s status. She only had a few items to complete, and did so as resident campers went about their activities. Annie finished early, and as I was walking to the office to pick her up, I passed a group of 10 or so campers who were about nine years old.   As I approached the back of the “line,” I heard the following conversation:

CLUELESS GIRL: Hey, that’s the second old lady I’ve seen today.

THOUGHTFUL GIRL: Shush! You don’t say that, especially when she’s right there.

CLUELESS GIRL: What? What did I say?”

THOUGHTFUL GIRL: You called that lady old and she could hear you. You don’t call ladies old, especially to their face.

CLUELESS GIRL: I didn’t say it to her face. I would never do that, but she is old.

As this banter continued, I did not react at all. I simply walked past these young girls as if I were in my own world, pretending that I did not hear this dialogue that will be forever seared in my mind. Unbeknownst to these charming little divas, this old lady heard the entire conversation and was pretty darn surprised. What ran through my mind was this: “Did that girl just call me an old lady? An old lady? Really? Do I look like an old lady? I don’t feel like an old lady, but maybe I am. Did I cross some old lady line that I didn’t see and now cannot go back to being a young lady or heck just a plain lady? What do you think she meant by old? Maybe this darling wanted to say sophisticated but didn’t have the vocabulary for that.”

Move over President Bush! If you want some SHOCK and AWE, you just needed to look at my face. I don’t know why I was so shocked. After all, this happened one other time when I was even younger than I am today.

Two days before Christmas, my mother-in-law decided my girls NEEDED American Girl dolls under the tree. So, I braved the Houston traffic and schlepped up to the American Girl Doll Store, which is about 25 miles away from my house. But, it was okay because I was in good company. It seemed everyone who owned a car in Houston and the surrounding suburbs was also out seeking the perfect last minute gift. So, I felt as if I were in good, albeit angry and aggressive, company.

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Cosby: Alleged serial rapist walks around free


Ok, so I am no legal mastermind, but I am baffled that an alleged serial rapist is walking the streets a free man. Isn’t serial raping or rape in any form illegal? Did I miss something in Justice 101?

Over the past few months, the Cosby sexual assault story has played out in the media like a Hollywood movie. People don’t want to believe that the Jello Man, Dr. Huxtable is capable of such things. I didn’t want to believe it. Why? Because Cosby was a large part of my childhood. He was the creator of Fat Albert, one of the few cartoons I would watch religiously on Saturday mornings. Because he convinced me that Jello Pudding Pops were awesome (and they were). Because the wise and funny TV dad of five kids could never, ever do something so seedy, so underhanded, so evil. Not Dr. Huxtable. Uh uh. No way. After all, he could dance, he could sing, he could make me laugh so hard I wet my pants with just a look. “It’s not possible,” my self-denying brain told myself.

But, it became harder and harder to deny that Cosby did something terribly wrong when woman after woman kept coming forward to speak their truth. As my mama used to say, “Where there’s smoke, there is fire.”

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