Old Man

      In the James Bond movie From Russia With Love, the villain keeps referring to Bond as "old man," an act which appears to disturb the secret agent.  After the bad guy lets down his guard, Sean Connery as Bond leaps into action, subduing the would-be killer in a fight to the death.

       After his nemesis is dispatched, Bond retrieves cash the man had stolen from him at gunpoint.   "You won't be needing this old man," Bond says, returning the insult.

    I know I don't have much in common with the super spy myself, but I also do not like to be called "old man."  Okay, okay, since I'm 73 I qualify, certainly more than Bond since Connery was only 33 when he starred in From Russia With Love.  Still . . . 

    My wife and I camped earlier this month along the shores of Lake Huron at a popular state park.  As it was the Fourth of July weekend, it was particularly busy with kids running and biking the narrow roads and trails.

     While taking a walk to the beach, a little girl I figured to be about kindergarten age, rode her bike up to an intersection I was approaching.  For safety sake, I quickly moved aside.  "That's okay.  I'm not going there," she said to me.  Then she turned her head to warn her older sister who was riding up from behind and couldn't see me, my being screened by trees just off the road.

    "Be careful.  There's an old man that way," the little girl called out.

    Ouch!  Couldn't she have referred to me as a distinguished elderly gentleman?  Or how about just a guy or a man . . . maybe just someone.  Was there a reason to throw age into the equation?  Did that make me more dangerous, creepy or more apt to stumble into their path?  A curious senior here would like to know.  Or at least get a little more respect.

    Then more recently I was playing a little backyard baseball with my grandkids.  I usually pitch the whiffleball since that is what they want me to do.  I told my six-year-old grandson Charlie that I was going to throw him my super-knuckleball-slider, telling him, "Nobody has ever hit my super-knuckleball-slider."

    That's just a tease.  The ball floated over the plate like any other pitch I throw and Charlie clobbers it with his plastic bat, sprinting to first base easily.  When he gets there he calls out, "Eat your words, old man."

    Et tu, Charlie?

    [sigh]