Rites of Passage

Eyesight. It's usually the first thing to go. Then the knees. Maybe after that the stomach starts acting weird. Age creeps up with startling speed.

Back when you're eighteen, you can barely envision being twenty-five. By the time you reach twenty-five, you believe forty is old. Forty? Pfht! Sixty is really old then. But when you make it to sixty, you know for certain that ninety is when you're finally old.

Some rites of passage push your nose right in the dirt, though. One of those is registering for Social Security. You can receive junk mail from AARP and that won't phase you. You can even make arrangements for your work pension and you'll be just fine. But then along comes...Social Security. After that it's just a short step to Medicare. A really, really short step.

I've heard it all about how age is just a number and all that stuff. Yep. It is until you make the call. Because until that point, Social Security is just a vague abstract concept. Suddenly, you have to prove who you are and why you are eligible to receive the money that's been deducted from your paycheck forever and ever.

Well. I've worked since I was sixteen. When I reach sixty-six, that will be sixty years off and on in the workforce. I don't feel bad at all about claiming my Social Security benefits. I just wish the implications weren't tied to age. Senior Citizen my backside...

anny