My brother-in-law Steve and I love to joke about how “old” we’re getting. He’ll ask me what it was like to witness the Boston Tea Party, and if I ever forget where I put my musket. I’ll ask him how he was able correspond with friends prior to the Pony Express, and whether he still gets cost-of-living bumps in his Civil War veteran’s pension.
In reality, we are both just a little north of 50. So while we both receive mail from AARP, we can hardly lay claim to being truly grizzled or wise.