It happened quite uneventfully a year before my 50th birthday: a letter from AARP, welcoming me to the club. I reacted as if it wasn’t even obtaining middle age status, it’s congratulations, you’re old! I was feeling old enough without AARP rubbing it in. My next thought was one of my favorite Woody Allen lines: I don’t want to be a member of any club that would have me as a member.
My biggest beef with AARP is what the letters stand for: American Association of Retired Persons. It’s that R-word that sticks in my craw. I guess it must have bothered officials there too as in 1999, the American Association of Retired Persons morphed into AARP, having outgrown the first “A” and the “R” in its moniker. It’s a transformation not unlike KFC, where everyone (at least of AARP age) knows the “F” is for “fried”—not such a great option in our health conscious society today. As it’s fashionable to go by initials or acronyms, AARP has become bad, phat or hip (you choose the terminology).
While my father and father-in-law were fortune enough to enter retirement before their 60th birthdays, the prospects for me are more than a million-to-one (like winning the lottery). When I hit six-oh we’ll still need every buck we can make to pay for Ethan’s fast approaching college education. If a year at a very good college today costs in excess of $50,000, wanna make a bet on the tab in 2018? (I think my father got off easy—even though he would disagree—as my entire higher education cost half that much.)
So here it is more than three years later, and I’m still a proud non-member of AARP. I’m not saying the day won’t come. I am old (and wise) enough to know I never say “never!” to too many things (besides never owning a minivan or taking up smoking).
But before I do, AARP, fix your tag line: The power to make it better. Shouldn’t it be the power to get into movies cheaper or to even have health insurance? What exactly is it? Am I still too old young to have learned the secret of “it”? I don’t have time to figure it out right now, I must get back to work.
My biggest beef with AARP is what the letters stand for: American Association of Retired Persons. It’s that R-word that sticks in my craw. I guess it must have bothered officials there too as in 1999, the American Association of Retired Persons morphed into AARP, having outgrown the first “A” and the “R” in its moniker. It’s a transformation not unlike KFC, where everyone (at least of AARP age) knows the “F” is for “fried”—not such a great option in our health conscious society today. As it’s fashionable to go by initials or acronyms, AARP has become bad, phat or hip (you choose the terminology).
While my father and father-in-law were fortune enough to enter retirement before their 60th birthdays, the prospects for me are more than a million-to-one (like winning the lottery). When I hit six-oh we’ll still need every buck we can make to pay for Ethan’s fast approaching college education. If a year at a very good college today costs in excess of $50,000, wanna make a bet on the tab in 2018? (I think my father got off easy—even though he would disagree—as my entire higher education cost half that much.)
So here it is more than three years later, and I’m still a proud non-member of AARP. I’m not saying the day won’t come. I am old (and wise) enough to know I never say “never!” to too many things (besides never owning a minivan or taking up smoking).
But before I do, AARP, fix your tag line: The power to make it better. Shouldn’t it be the power to get into movies cheaper or to even have health insurance? What exactly is it? Am I still too old young to have learned the secret of “it”? I don’t have time to figure it out right now, I must get back to work.
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