When I was 14-years old my beloved Grandmother turned 85. On the day of her birthday, our family hosted a small party for Grandma in the community room of her senior apartment complex. As the afternoon event was winding down, my sister, Barbara, and I sat chatting with Grandma.
Making small talk, we asked Grandma how it felt to be entering her ninth decade. Her answers were pretty much standard platitudes: "I'm grateful to be healthy," "Happy to enjoy time with family," and "Appreciative of this wonderful party."
Then my sister casually threw out another question: "You're 85 today, Grandma, but how old do you really feel?" Without missing a beat, she responded "28."
"Twenty-eight!" my sister and I replied in union.
Her response had been so fast and so firm. My sister and I couldn't help ourselves, we broke into laughter and Grandma good-naturedly joined in with a hearty chuckle.
How old do you feel inside?
Although we pressed Grandma to tell us more, she really didn't explain too much other than to say, "That's the age I feel inside."
I remember thinking, how could Grandma with her thin white hair, wrinkly face, old-fashioned cotton dresses and stout walking shoes possibly feel like a young woman? After all, from the outside she was a very old person and her life was clearly winding down.
But obviously, Grandma saw herself differently. At the time, I found this funny and sweet.
