Growing older both fact and state of mind

So, Monday is my birthday. It's OK. I've reconciled myself and am moving on. I have absolutely nothing to say about turning a thousand years old, except how lucky I am to have lived to see the day that I would be older than, say, air.

OK, I'm not really a thousand years old. I only feel like I'm a thousand years old, and there's a huge difference ... like, um ... well, trust me, there's a huge difference. Oh, wait, I know! For one thing, I may not actually be old enough to get the senior discount on things such as movies, hotels, airplane flights or headstones, but I'm ready for them, you know, mentally. And, once one has mentally prepared oneself to be old, I think it's just incumbent upon the world to accommodate that.

For example, old people -- old in reality or in state of mind -- should not have to understand every freaking technological term out there. No one should ever walk up to an old person and say things such as "Twitter." Yesterday -- and I am not making this up -- a student spoke an entire sentence to me in which I understood two words: "the" and "in." That's it.

Oh, I heard a few things such as "Facebook" and "upload" (or maybe it was "download" -- what the hell's the difference!) but, those are only vaguely recognized as sort of alien-but-safe terms, which actually have no meaning to old people. I think youngsters do this just to give themselves a few moments of hilarity at their elders' expense, and it should immediately result in having to do all of the yardwork for a month, while we "elderly" scream words at them that they won't understand, such as eight-track, culottes, Ed Sullivan and punctuation! But, that's just me.

It's also important to stop bothering us "elderly" with this Kindle stuff. I understand it's all the rage, and today's young people look scornfully down upon those of us who prefer an actual book, but here's what I say: When you run out of batteries, we are still reading. And, when we fall asleep reading and drop our books on the floor, which wakes us back up, not to mention the dogs, at least the most we would damage is a $4.50 paperback -- and possibly a lamp, but never mind that -- whereas you could ruin a $200 piece of technology! And, imagine if, instead of the floor, you dropped it on your face, not that I ever did that, you could end up with extensive dental or nasal surgery, whereas we would simply keep sleeping, the only damage possibly being a few soggy pages from drooling, not that I've ever done that, either.

It's not that I don't believe technology has a place in our lives, even for those who have reached the tender age of almost-one-thousand. For instance, even my 82-year-old mother immediately grasped the importance of technological advances such as the microwave oven, the programmable coffee maker and the ability to shop online 24 hours a day. And, my 84-year-old father quickly appreciated the advantages of the remote-controlled television and the remote-controlled stereo, although he's cursing Mom's discovery of 24-7 shopping, and tries daily to hide or disable their computer.

When a person reaches "a certain age" -- in body or soul -- simple courtesies also should be expected. I understand the requirements for a handicapped parking tag; I'm just saying that maybe there should be an additional tag for those of us who feel "a certain age." Instead of the blue and white handicap card, let's make it yellow, which represents the sun, which is the reason most elderly or "elderly minded" are developing brown spots on previously unblemished skin. Or, maybe we could make the tag purple, in honor of those varicose veins, and on behalf of the burst blood vessels on the noses of those who had cocktails every night throughout their parenting years.

And, speaking for those women who will proudly display this tag, I propose that they be given the following consideration by anyone younger than 40: You will never call them ma'am; you will always ask for their identification before selling them alcohol; you will pass notes in class only about how ravishing and sexy your teacher is; you will offer to drop them off at the door of the mall before parking the car, but you'll insist that it's because they look tired from working out all morning, which is evident in their gorgeous physique and athleticism.

So, Monday's my birthday, and I'm OK with it. I'm fine. Moving on. Really. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take my book and a glass of wine outside, download my behind into a lounge chair and get some sun!

Vicki Wentz's column, which appears here on Sundays, is published in newspapers across the country. She is a high school teacher who lives in Chapel Hill, N.C. Readers may contact her at vwentz@mindspring.com.