ByDVORA WAYSMAN

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”
‘Lilac.”
“Lilac who?”
“Lilac mad when anyone asks you how old you are.”

Age is a funny thing. We lie about it all the time. My first lie was when I was five. When anyone asked me how old I was, I’d invariably say, “I’m going to be six.” I was, but not for another seven months. I think I so desperately wanted to be six because of AA Milne’s poem “Now I am Six.”

“Now I am six, I am clever, so clever –
I think I’ll stay six forever and ever.”

When we are teenagers, it’s the time to do stupid things. I was 19 when I did mine (probably not the first).

I was newly arrived in London from Australia, embarking on my new life as an independent adult, living thousands of miles away from my parents. In a wild burst of freedom, I decided I wanted to be a redhead instead of keeping my quite nice, but ordinary brown hair. This was in 1951, before the advent of rows of easy-to-use hair colors in pharmacies. The only option was henna, so without knowing anything about what the results would be, I bought a big bag of it and dumped the entire contents on my head before washing it. When it dried, it was a bright, screaming scarlet – not just apricot –and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get rid of it. So I wore a scarf over my head for six months, with people guessing I was either bald or a gypsy.
AS A senior citizen, you come across as wise and experienced.
AS A senior citizen, you come across as wise and experienced. (Credit: VOLODYMYR HRYSHCHENKO/UNSPLASH)

When I was in my early 20s and newly married, I thought how magical and sophisticated 30 sounded, and decided that when I reached that number, I would buy a black satin negligee and smoke cigarettes in a long amber holder. However, I never actually acquired that black satin negligee, and have never smoked a cigarette in my life.

Once you’re in your 40s, you tend to deduct a year or two. I had a girlfriend of the same age as I was, and she told me she’d taken off so many years for so long that she’d soon have to go back to high school.
Bob Hope said, “Middle age is when your age starts to show around your middle.” These are the years of the menopause, raising your family, dealing with their teenage stupidities. No one asks you how old you are, and frankly, you no longer care. If anything, you tend to wonder why life’s great problems don’t come when you are young and know everything.

Then you’re a senior citizen, and secretly rather proud of it. You come across as wise and experienced, and younger people ask your advice, which is very flattering.

Come the 70s and instead of deducting, you might start adding a few years, almost boasting. “Look how well I’m doing – still driving, still fully independent. And I’m nearly 80!”

And now, I’m really and truly, actually 90. Ancient. I love a quote from Gertrude Stein, “You are always the same age inside.”

It’s true. I still love the same books and poems I loved when I was young. I am rich – not so much in a material sense – but rich in friends and family, who – even knowing all my weaknesses and foibles – still manage to love me.

Age, after all, is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter!                                                                          

The writer’s latest novel is Searching for Sarah. dwaysman@gmail.com