Young suitors are advised, “If you want to know what your girlfriend will look like in 20 years? Look at her mother.” It’s not the threat of looking like my mother as I grow older that bothers me; it’s the threat of looking like my father.
“I am plucking more than my eyebrows today,” I think as I notice a faint mustache and thicker nose hairs. My mother never turned gray, but I turned gray at the same age as my father as my hands begin to thicken and roughen.
“I don’t seem to be able to accomplish as much as I used to,” confessed a middle-aged friend to me.
“It’s because we’re spending more time bra shopping and exercising,” I announced.
Middle age, the sandwich years, when we’re more responsible for our parents and children, also the age for civic tasks, church activities, and personal growth. It’s also the closet years when we secretly remove dead skin from our feet, exercise the face, color our hair and shave places we never before considered, not to fight the battle of looking like our older mother, but the battle of looking like an older man!
Dedicated to Vicky Hagar, graceful, wise, feminine, and middle-aged
By Darla Clement
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