I Want to Grow Old in South Carolina

I had a whole blog post lined out in my head, the jist of it jotted down in my journal. Yet, I’ve been sitting here at the Barefoot Barista (local Pawleys Island coffee house) watching four elderly women play dominos, sip ice tea and chat with the occasional collective gasp followed by an “oh no!” or “you don’t say!” I had to change my game plan.

Our society places such an emphasis on youth that many fear getting older, myself included. But as I watch these women continue to play and laugh, occasionally correcting each other , I’m not sure what there is to be afraid of. Who wouldn’t like to be playing dominos in the air condition on a Thursday afternoon? If I have to get old, that’s the way I want to do it.

The alternative, I suppose, is aging like my father.

Mama Griff, “I have to text Jordan!”
Me, “We won’t tell everybody.”
Papa Griff, “Why don’t you just put it on the blog–Dad farted in the restaurant!”

That’s a true story–he really did pass gas after standing up in a restaurant. My mom’s apology to the woman who heard it was, “He’s old, but we love him.”


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