My First Sip of "Senior" Coffee, or Acceptance: Caf or Decaf?

It's almost impossible to believe that three months have passed since my last post. As with all lapses, it feels difficult to re-start after a long absence, but here goes....

I never imagined that a major life milestone would come to pass in a local McDonald's. But it did.

According to the tall lanky, gap-toothed server pinned with the "Michael" name tag, I am officially a "senior."

One morning several weeks ago,  I stopped in a convenient McDonald's for a cup of  coffee on the way to work. Coffee snobs, take note: I like their coffee. It's always hot. They always get my order right (half decaf, 2 creams, 1 Equal). And they do it with a smile.

This particular morning, coffee in hand and preparing to pay, Michael announced that I owed 55 cents. "Wow," I said. "Have you cut your prices?" "No," he cheerily replied. "Senior Coffee is only 55 cents."

Senior Coffee.

It took me a second or two to realize He's talking to you. You're the senior who just got the discounted cup of coffee. Pay the man.

And that's what I did. I had saved 60 cents, and lost my middle age--all in a single transaction.

Now, I've never been sensitive about my age. But I, vainly, have always thought that I look--at least a little bit--younger than my age.  But, here it was: without so much as asking me, Michael had made the determination--on looks alone--that I qualified as a "senior."

I've written in past posts about the work of acceptance, and the therapeutic value in accepting what cannot be changed. Certainly, my age cannot be changed--except with the addition of minutes, hours, days and years. Older is one option. Death is the other. Going backwards is not.

My father's favorite quip about turning 80 was, "It's a helluva lot better than not turning 80."  It's often been said, jokingly (or is it?) that the alternative to aging is pretty grim. And, while death does carry a grim reputation, I have had some deep and engaging conversations with my 95-year-old client "Charlotte" about the hereafter. Whether or not death is a preferable state is a debate left for another time.

All this being said, I now embrace my seniorhood. Well, not exactly--I embrace my cup of Senior Coffee--and my 60-cent savings--every time I go to McDonald's. I must admit that, I secretly harbor the faint dream that one morning some fresh-faced young thing at the counter will take my order, pause for a moment,  look at me quizzically and offer up those magic words: Are you sure you're a senior?

Hasn't happened yet.

But back to that fateful morning with Michael. As I took my first cup of Senior Coffee and turned to leave, I stopped and asked Michael, as casually as I could muster, "So, by the way, just how old do seniors have to be, you know, to get Senior Coffee?"

Without blinking he said breezily, "Fifty-five."

I brightened just a little, secure--at least in my imagination--that at least Michael had taken me for 55. And not a day older. Two years younger than my birth certificate will attest. And that is my acceptance, half decaf, two creams, and one Equal.

Until next time, thanks for listening.