The P.A.

A weekly address from Patrick Adams,
President of St. Louis Community Credit Union

Anybody Got Some Alka-Seltzer?

On November 17th, 2014, posted in: Uncategorized by

man with headacheFinally, a reason to celebrate being old. According to a couple of folks down at the St. Louis Federal Reserve who spend their days sifting through data, numbers and countless footnotes (one would presume), those of us who are middle-aged and older have nearly fully recovered our wealth to pre-crisis levels. Party on, Garth.

Yeah, baby. While we have lost the battle against brown fat, succumbed to taking a nap whenever possible, and given up on our desire for morality and good taste to make their way back to the television airwaves, our coffee can full of pennies, dimes, nickels and quarters has filled back to the brim. Yep, we’re back, baby.  Party on, Wayne.

In reading the same article that told me that I’m “back, baby,” I also noted that middle-aged was defined as between 40 and 61. I’m in my 58th year on this rock, and it has rocked my world to discover that I am only three short years from being officially considered part of the cohort known as “old.” Even if my coffee can is full, I’m not ready for that cohort. Old people are the ones at whom all of the drug commercials on TV are aimed. That’s not me. I’ve watched them all, and I need none of them — especially not the miracle elixir without which the elephant lands smack dab on top of you.

Really, to be fair to those folks who are just entering into the category of “middle-aged,” maybe you are who I should feel sorriest for. According to the Federal Reserve, at 40 years old you are already lumped into a category with me. OMG! Think about this: If your mom had you before she was 21 years old, it’s official — you are in the same cohort as your mother. Be honest, you want to jump off a bridge, don’t you?  Put away your coolness, bro — you are one category away from wearing stripes and plaids and not giving a hoot.  You’re 40 and just one move away from wearing white socks with dress shoes and slacks — beltless Sansabelts. You’re going down, dude.

Party on, Mr. 40-year-old, you’re in a group that got its money back — at least what we lost in the Great Recession — but there are bigger problems on the horizon.  Let me warn you, from one middle-aged guy to another, that your hairline is on its way to being even with your ears, if it’s not already there. Speaking of ears, that’s where most of the hair on your head now calls home. Metabolism will soon be a word you start paying attention to. And for the first time in the history of your existence, you’ll begin thinking that the Velcro-strapped tennis shoes Uncle Ted wears really are pretty practical.

I’m on the door step of being old, got a little somethin’ somethin’, yet feeling like I need a hug. But at least I’m not 40 and having to deal with the idea that I’m middle-aged. OMG!!!

Note to self:  Stop reading the Federal Reserve articles.  Anybody got some Alka-Seltzer?

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