A New Generation of "Tweens"

The sign read: “Be prepared to show ID. Those that look 30 and under will be carded. Consider it a compliment!” I smugly held my ID out to the cashier.

“Are you taking advantage of our Senior Citizen discount today?” She asked. She has no idea how lucky she is that I gave her the chance to live to see her braces removed and get her drivers license.

A few years back, a phrase was coined: Tween. Those that aren’t a kid anymore, but not quite a teenager. Well, young kids aren’t the only ones living in the in-between.
Those of us that are over 40 and under 65 are in that same boat.

We’ve been called the “sandwich generation” – helping care for elderly parents and college age children. This is true, but still, I feel more like a “Tween.” than a “Sandwich.” I am stuck between the world of 3 inch heels and support hose. I don’t want to wear sensible shoes, and I’m not ready to give up flavored lip gloss. I wear clothes that my mother won’t. I dance like nobody’s watching. I laugh and love and obviously, I must have enough wrinkles to make someone think twice about my age.

But I’m not yet a senior citizen. I don’t CARE that I get a 10% discount if I look older to you. I don’t CARE that I get a free cup of coffee. Not yet. That’s a privilege I will patiently wait for. My mind is still back in my 30’s, my body is in my 40’s and apparently according to some young punk check out girl, I appear to be in my late 50’s. That’s a great age, mind you. Terrific. 50 is the new 40. 55 is the new 45. But can I at least wait until I actually reach that part of the decade before someone implies I need a cane and those big, black wrap around sunglasses?

If you think I am blasting the elderly, you have it very wrong. I revere them. I admire them. I love their stories. I revel in their wisdom and knowledge and life lessons. I love their recipes and old pictures and letters from long ago. I love the stories of World War Two, the Depression and George Burns and Gracie Allen. I love the jitterbug and big bands and “An Affair to Remember.” I love their age. I respect their age. I admire their age.

Soon, I will be in their place. My grandkids will ask me about “American Idol” and iPods and DVD’s. They will dance to oldies like The Eagles and Kenny G and Dolly Parton. They will help me across the room to retrieve my walker, and take me to the hairdresser so I can still cover up the gray. They will listen to stories about the first woman to try to run for president, and the great hurricane of ’07. It is then that I won’t be a “Tween.” I will gladly wear sensible shoes and cheater glasses and show my Golden Buckeye card. I will smile and shake my head yes, when offered a 10% off my purchase. I will gladly take my free cup of coffee.

But not yet. Not just yet. I am enjoying being a “Sandwich Tween.” I am enjoying being a mom, a daughter and a grandma all at the same time. I like that I can dance all night and still be able to get out of bed in the morning. I am glad that I am still considered youthful. Now, excuse me while I go read this months issue of AARP. They have great articles.