I didn't think I was especially old at 55, but then...

Even when I was very young, I never thought 55 was particularly old. And I still don't, given that I turned that age myself a few months ago.

Then three things happened that gave me pause:

• I drove past the site of a new development here in Wickliffe where 55-and-over housing is being built. A sign out front referred to the soon-to-be-constructed houses as "senior living" units. Senior living.
  
  
• I was flipping through the Wickliffe Connection, our town's quarterly newspaper, when I came across an article about the Wickliffe Senior Center, which I've always thought of as a nice gathering place for the very elderly in our community. Then I noticed this line: "Anyone 55 and over may become a member" of the Senior Center. I'm sorry, what??
  
  
• Every year, my company generously makes a lump-sum contribution to each employee's 401(k) account. This contribution is a certain percentage of your eligible earnings, with that percentage rising as you get older. The age group receiving the highest-percentage contribution – the old fogies of the company who presumably need the money the most – is 55 and over. Yes, I'm now considered essentially the same as a 70-year-old. I appreciate the infusion of cash, but that one hurt.

I guess I always thought stuff like this didn't happen until you turned at least 65. But even as lifespans increase and people generally maintain their youthful vigor for longer periods, we're suddenly associating age 55 with "senior citizen," and I'm admittedly shaken.

On the other hand...

I'm thinking Terry and I should consider moving into one of the new 55-and-over houses and joining the Senior Center. It may be disconcerting to find ourselves in the old person demographic, but compared with our prospective neighbors and fellow Senior Center members, we'll be the young, rowdy kids! Like the slightly overweight person who hangs out only with very fat friends, by comparison, we'll be the life of the party.

Shuffleboard at our house. 3pm tomorrow. BYOE (Bring Your Own Ensure).

AARP didn't ask me out, so I went chasing after them

Over the last few years, I've enjoyed watching people in my age bracket turning 50 and posing for photos holding the letters they received in the mail from AARP, otherwise known as the American Association for Retired Persons.

Often they have a mock sad face and jokingly(?) lament the fact they're now a half-century old. With the crack AARP membership recruiting team having tracked them down, they suddenly feel like senior citizens.

So many of my 1980s-graduating compatriots received these letters and posted about it that I was kind of sad AARP never sent me one. Somehow I slipped under their radar and didn't get an invite to the Old People's Ball.

But then, a couple of months ago, our family switched cell phone carriers from Verizon to AT&T. The AT&T guy told us that, if Terry and I joined AARP, we could get a discount on our phone bill.

Say no more. I hurried over to aarp.org and signed us up.

And it has been great! At least for me. I'm not sure Terry cares one way or the other.

You start getting all kinds of AARP emails and newsletters with product discounts and health tips and other items of interest to persons of an increasingly advanced age.

I find all of it useful.

Best of all, after getting off to such a rocky start, AARP and I are now very close. If this was 1984, I would say we were "going together."

Sometime soon, AARP and I are going to spend a Friday night playing bingo and watching "Murder She Wrote." Then we'll see where things lead.

What can I say? I'm smitten.