Gramps
“Hey, that’s a lot of weight, Gramps!”
Yeah, he was talking to me. Sixteen-ish, the young man was chatting it up around the gym, making sure everyone knew he was there. A little shorter than me and quite a bit heavier, he helped me add twenty-five-pound plates as I got ready to do some squats. When he watched me get ready for some deadlifts he reminded me that I was the oldest guy in the room.
I’ve been called Grandpa and Apa by my grandchildren. In fact, when I was playing with a bunch of MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) kids, they all called me Grandpa because my grandson did. But I’ve never been called “Gramps” before. It’s a label I’ve always associated with someone much older than me. Apparently, I qualify.
Is it normal to feel younger than your chronological age? My dad would argue with me about his age. When I asked him, “Did you ever think you would live to be ninety?” he would chuckle and say, “I’m not that old.” So, I’d ask him, “When were you born?” He would correctly answer, “1924.” “So, you are in your nineties!” He’d shake his head in disbelief.
There is one older gentleman I see in the gym just about every time I am there. Ed walks with a cane, sits on a few machines, and cranks out a few light reps. I give him credit. He’s there, doing more than most people. When he’s there, I don’t feel like “Gramps.”
Anyway, I’m just going to receive that comment as a compliment. I’m there doing more than most, too.
