My Turn: Forget looking in the mirror for the signs of aging

‘What are those?” my 4-year-old grandson asked about the medication bottles lined up on the dresser in the guest bedroom my wife and I were using during a visit to Los Angeles.

“All my medicine,” I replied.

He looked concerned and asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

At 75, I have the requisite number of mostly age-related health issues — along with numerous medications.

To a 4-year-old, I was at death’s door.

But it isn’t my diagnosed health issues and my attempt to put a positive spin on aging that give me the most honest insight into how I’m doing. It is how my sons and grandchildren have reacted to my aging over the past 15 years or so. I see my true reality in their reactions.

It started when I was in my 60s at Splish Splash in Riverhead. I loved going there each summer and taking my sons along. But they slowly aged out of this trip until finally only my youngest son went along.

At 14 he had enough. “I’m not going to Splish Splash with you again this year, Dad,” he said.

So I waited for my granddaughters to be old enough to go. Since no one wants to see an old guy at Splish Splash by himself. No one.

Finally, when my granddaughters were 7 and 9, off we went. It was one of the last days of the season: drizzly, overcast and nearly empty. We were able to go on one ride after another for a couple of hours.

Finally, the 9-year-old looked up at me and asked, “Are you all right, Poppa?”

Yep, I said.

But it occurred to me that not only had she seen I might be having trouble keeping up and was worried, but that none of my sons had ever asked me whether I was OK. In fact, when they went to Splish Splash with me, if I’d passed out, I could envision them pulling me up and pushing me down the slides, sunglasses on, “Weekend at Bernie’s” style.

The next time I saw a granddaughter’s insight into my health as more accurate than my own was when I was at 68 and needed a new hip.

After she learned this, she asked, “Is that why you’re always limping?”

It was — but I didn’t think it was that noticeable.

At last, once I was in my mid-70s, my sons seemed to become more conscious of how age was limiting me. I saw it in little things, like how all of them at some point during the summer said, “I got it!” when I was about to lift the luggage, water, whatever, into the car.

My wife also provided an interesting and, unfortunately, accurate aging assessment during a recent bike ride.

“I might as well walk if you don’t go faster,” she said.

So even though I still ride a bike, kayak, lift weights, walk and do martial arts, I perform these activities slower, shorter and lighter. But maybe slower, shorter and lighter is the way to go as the end draws nearer.

Last week I was trimming the bushes when my son came out and asked, “Do you want me to do that for you?”

No, I got it, I said.

To which he replied, “How about I hold your scarecrow-like arms up for you and you can make believe you’re doing it by yourself.”

 Gerard Seifert,

 Patchogue