DOWN HOME: Postman delivers tidings of mortality

Posted: 4/28/06

DOWN HOME:
Postman delivers tidings of mortality

Sometimes, our mail carrier is so annoying. If he were a nicer and more thoughtful guy, he would sort through our stack every day and throw away all the junk that obviously doesn’t belong in our mailbox.

Come to think of it, he could provide a terrific public service by surveying his route and trashing stuff we don’t want. You know what I mean: Flyers for aluminum siding and credit cards and time-share condominiums and alternative sources of essential vitamins and nutrients. The only benefit all this mail provides is the exercise I get by carrying it straight from the mailbox by the front curb to the recycling bin in the garage out back.

Initiating a preemptive strike on junk mail would be nice and good, and I’d appreciate it enormously. Conversely, I’d like to see our postal carrier held personally responsible for delivering malicious, offensive and mean-spirited mail.

Sometimes, of course, he can’t know, unless he develops X-ray vision and can see if people actually sign their letters. But anonymous mail doesn’t bother me, since my assistant at work, Beth, tosses it for me, and I never know it arrives. Call that “stress-reduction by mail-elimination.”

But some of the offensive mail comes clearly marked to my home. Like the packet of material that recently arrived from the American Association of Retired Persons, who cordially invited me to join their Baby Boomer-burgeoning ranks. Who (or maybe it’s what) do they think I am?

I don’t have any problem being associated with “American,” “Association” or “Persons.” But receiving an invitation to participate in something that insinuates I might now be or soon be “Retired” is, well, a bit insulting.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate retirees. Some of my favorite people are retired. I hope to be retired one day. But that seems like a long way off. And thinking about it very hard right now seems sorta morbid, like pondering who’ll replace my knees or what kind of casket I’ll want.

Just because I’m going to have a nice-round birthday this year doesn’t necessarily give them the right to pretend I’m about to vault over the next 15 years (give or take) and start thinking of myself as, well, retired.

On the other hand, I’ve heard an AARP membership card can get you into places cheaply. Half-price movies sound good. Maybe by the time I receive my card, it’ll get me half-off on other things, too, like having my ears waxed and the top of my head shined. This is too painful to contemplate.

Which is precisely why I try to avoid it. And why the AARP package came as such a shock. We live in a youth-oriented culture. We value energy, exuberance and enthusiasm of youth. Many of our close friends have started claiming “50 is the new 35,” which sounds great to a bunch of folks who quit buying birthday candles years ago.

Still, God did a good work by structuring life in phases. Each one has blessed Joanna and me uniquely, surprisingly, refreshingly.

So, maybe “Retired” won’t be such a bad label. Someday.

–Marv Knox

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