I’ve been thinking about getting older.
I’m 60 years old, and sometimes I catch myself wondering how much the world has changed in my lifetime.
Then, a couple of times a week, I sit down for coffee with a group of men and women at our local McDonald’s. Most of them have a few more years under their belts than I do.
Suddenly, I’m one of the youngsters.
At 60, I’ll take that wherever I can get it.
Now, you might imagine these gatherings involve deep philosophical discussions about life, history, and the wisdom that comes with age.
And occasionally, they do.
But first, we have more pressing matters to address.
Is McDonald’s trying to freeze us to death with the air conditioning? Why is the music so loud? And who on earth selected the playlist?
Apparently, we’ve reached an age where the thermostat and background music are matters of considerable public concern.
Once those issues have been thoroughly discussed, we move on to politics, the weather, local happenings, who’s doing what around town, and updates on everyone’s aches, pains, and medical appointments.
Some mornings, I think we’ve solved most of the world’s problems by 9 a.m.
Unfortunately, nobody in Washington has called to ask for our recommendations.
And I’m pretty sure we’d have a few disagreements among ourselves anyway.
Thirty Years Later, I’m Still the New Guy
Over the years, my family and I have called some pretty different places home.
Los Angeles, CA, with nearly 3.9 million people. Seattle, WA, with about 737,000. Anchorage, AK, with roughly 291,000. And Ogden, UT, with around 87,000.
My family roots go back generations in Sevier County, UT, a rural area with roughly 21,500 residents. I also lived in Redmond, UT, a little town of about 760 people.
I’ve spent time in Bethel, AK, a remote community of roughly 6,300 people, and visited villages along the western Yukon River where life can be considerably different from what most of us experience in the lower 48 states.
During my 20 years in the United States Air Force, I was stationed in IL, TX, Northern CA, Tacoma, WA, and Anchorage, AK, along with wherever else in the world the Air Force decided it needed to send me.
Military life meant moving, adjusting, and sometimes taking the family along for another adventure, whether we were ready for one or not.
One thing I learned is that you don’t always get much say in your travel arrangements. The Air Force tells you where you’re going, and your job is to figure out where it is, pack your bags, and show up.
Apparently, their idea of a travel agency was a little different from ours.
Over the years, we’ve also had opportunities to see much of the country, including most of the major cities across the lower 48 states. Our travels have taken us to several places in Mexico, islands throughout the Caribbean, and cities and small towns across France.
From crowded metropolitan areas to small farming communities and remote Alaskan villages, we’ve experienced quite a variety of places, cultures, and ways of life.
You’d think all that moving and traveling would make us experts at getting to know new places.
Then, in 1996, the Air Force settled us in Warrensburg, MO, a community of roughly 20,000 people, about an hour south east of Kansas City.
Thirty years later, our family has called this community home for most of my adult life.
You’d think that would qualify me as a local.
Apparently, there’s a waiting period.
And judging by my morning coffee conversations at McDonald’s, I haven’t completed it yet.
Someone will mention a family name, an old business, or a place that hasn’t existed in decades.
Suddenly, everyone at the table knows exactly what they’re talking about.
Everyone except me.
One person remembers who owned the business. Another remembers who married whose cousin. Someone else recalls an incident involving someone I’ve never heard of at a building that apparently disappeared sometime during the Eisenhower administration.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting there smiling, nodding, and hoping nobody asks me what I think.
It’s like walking into a movie halfway through, only to discover everyone else has already watched the entire series.
Between military assignments, family moves, and our travels, we’ve managed to find our way around major cities, foreign countries, and some pretty remote places.
But apparently, figuring out who’s related to whom in Warrensburg requires an entirely different set of navigational skills.
And I may need another 30 years to master them.
A Little History With My Coffee
But here’s the thing.
I genuinely enjoy these conversations.
Mixed in with the politics, weather complaints, local gossip, and medical updates are some fascinating stories about how people lived, worked, and grew up.
They remember businesses that are gone, people who helped shape the community, and a Warrensburg that existed long before our family arrived.
And sometimes, what I find most interesting isn’t how much things have changed, but how differently people remember them.
Two people can recall the same place or event and somehow come away with entirely different versions.
Which, come to think of it, isn’t much different from today’s political discussions.
I also spend time with fellow military retirees, and those conversations bring another perspective.
Different generations, different duty stations, and plenty of stories about how things used to be.
Naturally, we also discuss how much the military has changed.
And occasionally, how much better we were at running things.
At least that’s how we remember it.
But whether I’m listening to stories about old Warrensburg or someone’s military experiences, I find myself appreciating the opportunity to hear a little history firsthand.
Not everything worth knowing is written in a book or available through an internet search.
Sometimes it’s sitting across the table, drinking coffee, and complaining about the air conditioning.
Maybe Being the Young Guy Isn’t So Bad
What I’ve come to appreciate is that everyone brings a different piece of history to the table.
Our family has experienced quite a few changes over the years, and I’ve certainly witnessed plenty in my 60 years. But these friends remind me that there’s still an awful lot I haven’t experienced or learned.
And while getting older certainly has its disadvantages, there’s something reassuring about spending time with people who can make 60 feel young again.
I enjoy their stories, their humor, and their perspectives on life.
I don’t always agree with their opinions, and I’m pretty sure they don’t always agree with mine.
But that’s part of what makes the conversations interesting.
And frankly, if we all agreed about everything, we’d have nothing left to discuss except the thermostat.
I’ve Been Thinking…
Maybe one of the benefits of getting older is realizing that you don’t know nearly as much as you once thought you did.
My family and I have traveled, moved, adapted to new places, and shared plenty of experiences along the way. My military career added a few adventures of its own.
But some of the most interesting things I’m learning these days come from sitting around a table at McDonald’s, drinking coffee with people who have a few more years behind them.
There’s something special about listening to people share their memories, laugh about the past, and occasionally disagree about how things really happened.
And I hope that if I’m fortunate enough to reach their age, I’ll still be curious, still laughing, and still have a few stories worth telling.
Sometimes you don’t have to travel halfway around the world to learn something new. You just have to sit down, have a cup of coffee, and listen.
Of course, it would be a lot easier to concentrate if McDonald’s would turn down the music and adjust the thermostat.
And maybe, just maybe, after another 30 years in Warrensburg, somebody will finally consider me a local.
I’m not holding my breath.
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