Fifty. The decade of cardigans, cruises and creaky joints. Well. I have always been partial to a cardigan, a cruise would be a vomit fest due to my wobbly inner ear and my joints have been creaky for a long time. But then again I am only 42, it is my other half, my old man, my partner in crime who hit his golden year yesterday.
When I was a teenager, 50 may as well be dead. Even my parents weren’t that old. But from where I stand now 50 doesn’t sound anywhere near as bad (tho my lovely boyfriend would say that is because I have the pleasure of it being some 7 and a half years in the future!).
He isn’t the first of our mates to hit the milestone, several have trodden that path in recent years – and none of them fits the stereotype my teenage brain would have conjured up. They are young at heart, if slightly less so of face – and they certainly don’t act or dress like the 50 year olds of my grandparents generation.
Our generation is lucky in a way – our parents are the first treading a path of younger older people. They were the teenagers of the 1960s and are not taking older age in a flurry of polyester florals and C&A slacks. My parents are still off to festivals and gigs and travelling Europe every summer in their camper. Not for my mum the shampoo and set my Nans both wore, rather a flattering bob with only a hint of grey. Not for my Dad the trousers with the permanent crease. Their late 60s doesn’t even look like I imagined 50 would when I was young. They have made getting old seem a far less scary place.
But still. Fifty. My boyfriend is 50. I still think he is the sexiest man ever. He isn’t old to me, he is the same man I first met almost 20 years ago. He isn’t buying slacks, his latest clothing purchase was a new Motörhead t-shirt in honour of the dear departed Lemmy. He hasn’t got boring, though we definitely manage less all night drinking sessions these days!
We are grown up and not grown up at the same time. We manage the things that go with the façade of adulthood – jobs and parenting and bill paying. But we also still love the things we did as teenagers. Music mostly. Preferably live. Preferably loud.
Old? Us? Never. But then again, having a 19-year-old really does remind you how old you are. ‘I don’t feel any different than when I was a teenager’ you think. Then you see and listen to actual teenagers and realise quite how far you have come.
That’s the good thing about getting older, you can pick and choose the best bits of youth (well, sadly you can’t pick to keep the same face and figure, but appearance aside!). You can ditch the insecurities and the anxieties, but keep the excitement of hearing that first bar of a favourite song. You learn what is important (love, mostly) and what is less so (money, mostly).
He had a fabulous birthday weekend, the most brilliant party. So many great musicians got up and made some noisy noise. He is blessed with awesome friends and family and to see that demonstrated by a room full of amazing people and amazing music was really quite moving for both of us.
He is loved by many, but the most by me and his boys. Happy birthday baby, and remember, 50 year olds are cool,
Love Miss Cisco