Self-perception versus age

“Oh *****,” I said audibly.
(Again, no names. I don’t want some creep hittin’ on this lady.)
*****, a high-school classmate of mine when we graduated in 1962, had just posted a recent picture of herself on Facebook as her profile pik.
***** and I are Facebook “friends.”
She still looked good, but hair dyed. It probably woulda been silver by now. Mine is.
It may have been a wig — I hope not. My wife had to switch to wigs after all her hair fell out with anti-cancer chemo.
She died almost five years ago. I miss her immensely.
***** was still thin, but visibly pushing 73. I think her birthday is July; mine is next month.
I hope she doesn’t get wind of of this — I don’t wanna hurt her feelings.
***** was probably the majordomo of my high-school class. She was daughter of a school-board member, and aced all her courses.
She married her high-school sweetheart after college, a guy who was a star end on our football-team.
I think she was named our school’s academic or humanities scholar; another dude was named science scholar.
Our high-school, feebly attempting superiority to others in northern DE, didn’t have a Valedictorian or Salutatorian. Instead we had an academic or humanities scholar, plus a science scholar.
Our graduation processional wasn’t Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance;” Too conventional.
It was Purcell’s “Trumpet-Voluntary.”
Our high-school served the ritzy postwar developments in northern DE.
Many of the residents were elitist Dupont engineers.
Like Rochester (NY) was once Kodak, Wilmington, DE was Dupont.
At that time we lived north of Wilmington. We moved there when I was 13.
My father wasn’t a Dupont engineer. He worked for a new oil-refinery.
Unlike *****, I was just a clueless bottom-feeder, no idea what I was doing.
I was in low-level College-Prep because I wouldn’t do shop.
I would be guaranteed matriculation at University of Delaware, as all Delawareans were at that time.
Like most I’d flunk out during first semester, and thereby become fodder for the Vietnam war.
I would have none of it. I knew U. of D. would be a disaster, and wanted to remain alive = no ‘Nam for The Keed.
I also knew U. of D. would be impossible because I’d be staying home. College-level work in a madhouse was clearly not possible.
So instead I matriculated at Houghton College (“HO-tin;” as in “hoe,” not “how” or “who”), 360 miles away from home, in western NY.
That was a compromise with my hyper-religious father, a super-long story not worth doing at this time.
Much to my surprise, I was welcomed with open arms. Unlike my childhood, adult authority-figures valued my opinions, instead of telling me I was disgusting and rebellious.
Things were touchy at times, but I graduated, first in my family to earn a college degree — although I think my father coulda, had he not come of age during the Depression.
I met ***** at my 50th high-school reunion, shortly after my wife died. The reunion was in northern DE.
I learned ***** had been a computer programmer before retirement.
Well of course! She was just like my wife. Smart enough and savvy enough and self-driven enough to figger out some contorted programming glitch that sent things awry.
I probably coulda done that too, but other things were interesting; mainly train-watching. (I’m a railfan, and have been since age-2.)
I found ***** has a Facebook, so one night years ago at home I began looking for it.
Lots of bare-chested hussies with maximum cleavage named ***** *******, but they were clearly not *****. ***** had class.
Weeks passed; I was getting nowhere. I wasn’t looking every night.
Then one night I stumbled upon *****’s Facebook. I almost immediately sent her a “friend” request.
Surprise-surprise; she accepted. She allowed she only had a Facebook for family.
Okay, I hardly look at Facebook myself; I only have 56 “friends.”
I don’t bother her much; we don’t have much in common. Anyway, I’m borderline insane, and she’s not.
But she reminds of my wife, and we both play with computers, perhaps me more than her.
Hers too is a MAC. (Dread!)
Another friend, with whom I graduated college in 1966, and I have been having a discussion about self-perception versus actual age.
This was prompted by another friend sending a photo of me receiving a medal from Houghton’s president at my 50th class reunion last year.
“Is that me? Yow-zuh! I look horrible!”
I get this at the Canandaigua YMCA too.
I encounter full-length mirrors before starting aquatic therapy in their pool.
Again, Yow-zuh!
One’s self-perception is more-than-likely not the same as reality.
I may still feel youngish, but I’m an old geezer.
I stumble along, and people pass. All but oldsters.
I also now have a Handicap-tag. (I only requested it as a result of my knee-change.)

• My wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012.
• “The Keed” is of course me, “BobbaLew.” (See above.)
• Houghton College, in western New York, is from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. I’ve never regretted it, although I graduated a Ne’er-do-Well, without their blessing. Houghton is an evangelical liberal-arts college.
• “MAC” is Apple MacIntosh. All my siblings have Windows PCs, and loudly tell me Macs are toys. The fact I use one indicates I’m rebellious and stupid.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA, now doing aquatic therapy twice a week in their swimming pool. Supposedly this will improve my balance, which is awful. In-my-humble-opinion it’s bad because of leg-strength having withered away.