Skip to main content

Alfred M. Albers

Author & Magician

Of Ghosts And Magic
House of Tarot Cards
A Pocket Full of Voices
The Last Goodbye
Book Reviews
Book Club Questions 1
Book Club Questions 2
Book Club Questions 3
News Update 27 Aug 2017
Ordering Information
About Al Albers
Creative Magic Catalog
Interested in Magic
Other Authors Web Sites
Blog 1
Blog 2
Blog 3
Blog 4
Blog 5
Blog 6
Blog 7
Blog 8
Blog 9
Blog 10
Blog 11
Blog 12
Blog 13
Blog 14
Blog 15
Blog 16
Blog 17
Media Spotlight
Member Login


By Al Albers



            As my birthday loomed closer, a friend, Todd, asked me if I had any plans for this noteworthy day.  (Todd is two years my junior.)


            “Huh?” I said.


            Some people reflect on how they spent their birthday the previous year.  That’s not me; my birthday is just another day of the week.


            “Don’t tell me you’re going to sit in a recliner and do nothing all day,” he replied.


            “I’m debating it,” I answered.


            I knew I was about to get an earful.


            “Where do I begin?” Todd said.


            Is there an unwritten rule that a newly minted 65-year-old celebrant has to do something totally outlandish; something that’ll take the wind out of one’s sails and render one’s spouse speechless?


            I hope not.  I don’t like heights – never have – and my wild ‘n’ crazy teenage years are long behind me.


            There is, however, a “historical” association of reaching old age.  Anytime the word historical is mentioned in a conversation, it’s really a code word for antiquity.  Todd avoided saying “the word” during our conversation, but in some parlance I think he was subtly implying that in a few days – whether I like it or not – I’ll gain entry to an exclusive fraternity that’ll allow me to chinwag with folks known as “senior citizens.”




            “Just think of the entitlements you’ll be eligible for, Al.  A senior discountat restaurants; movie theaters; airline, railroad and bus transportation; etc.”


“I’m overjoyed, Todd.”


“What are friends for!  To save you time and effort, I searched the Internet and compiled a list of discounts that are available to … uh … you.  It’ll be inside your birthday card.”


I didn’t respond.  Intentionally.  I hope no one expects me to change my demeanor.  If change is something to be expected of all senior citizens, I’ll be returning my membership card.  If anything, I may have to crank up the argumentative reputation I’ve spent years developing … much to the annoyance of those who were the unlucky the recipients of letters I’ve written.


            “You still there?” Todd asked.


            Silence is golden; it’s a balance to everything that occurs in the universe.


            “I think you’re making a big deal about an issue few people, if any, really care about,” I casually replied.  “That number…”


            “Having a difficult time saying the number?” Todd laughingly asked.


            “Sixty-five,” I exclaimed.  “Feel better?”


            “Hearing you say it – YES!”


            ‘I’m happy for you.”  I paused … in case Todd had planned on inflicting one of his wisecracks.


He didn’t.


“As I was saying, that number doesn’t dictate how I feel, how I go about my daily activities, or how I think.  It’s simply a number; nothing more, nothing less.”


“Al, I’ve another call … hold on a moment.”


Less than a minute passed.  “Al, it’s my bookie … oops, I meant broker.  I’ll catch up with you in a few weeks.  But before I hang up, can I offer you a suggestion?”


“I’m listening.”


“The next time you and the missus go to Wal-Mart, use valet parking.  Valets don’t forget where they parked your car.”


A dial tone ended Todd’s roaring laugh.


I got the last laugh, though.  A box with an inflatable walker is due to be delivered to Todd’s home by 8:00 p.m. this evening.  It’s marked C.O.D.


Next time he’ll know not to irritate a soon-to-be senior citizen: me.