This was published several years ago — and in terms of comments generated it is in the top 5 of all time. It’s being reposted at the request of a dear friend who just turned 55…. Happy Birthday! You know who you are!
I was on the treadmill when I heard Janice Ian’s iconic song “At 17” on my I-pod. I was 17 when that song came out, in my senior year of high school, and my friends and I, (we were the kids with “ravaged faces/ lacking in the social graces”) regarded the song as our anthem.
In a nanosecond my high school years came back full force. I remembered that Janice Ian sang that song on the premier episode of “Saturday Night Live,” back in the glory days of Belushi and Radner and Akroyd and Curtain, and I remembered that many of us would never admit to watching that show, because that would be to acknowledge that we were home alone on a Saturday night.
The song aged well, I thought, and I wondered if today’s 17-year olds could still identify with the lyrics. But then I realized that angst is not the domain of teenagers; every age has its own unique set of issues; I turn 55 this summer, and middle age comes with its own set of stressors.
“We 55-year olds need an anthem of our own,” I thought, and, inspired, I tried to find Janice’s e-mail so I could ask her to write one for us, but I had no luck. So I wrote it myself.
AT 55
I know the truth at 55
Of the games we play just to survive:
That a bogus laugh and a phony grin
Will keep the paychecks coming in,
‘cause how to win’s no secret now:
You go along, you scrape and bow
And working hard is not the goal,
Success is based on who you know.
Fifty-five’s an awkward age
Not young or old, consumed with rage:
Aging’s not done gracefully
When you know that time’s your enemy.
We’re helpless as our girth increases,
as memory wanes and joy decreases;
looks are gone and stress is growing-
we realize our health is going.
Hope’s in short supply:
That’s the truth at 55.
Had dinner with a college bud,
Whose goal was finding one true love.
Like me he just turned 55,
But he’s had three or 4 ex-wives
And as we chat I plainly see
He’s desperate for some company.
And so we spoke of living wills,
Of prostate size; Viagra pills
But never dared to share the truth,
We’re mourning for our vanished youth.
So we signal for another drink
so we don’t have to feel or think.
We drink because by know we know,
(Though we pretend it isn’t so)
Happy endings are a fantasy,
True love is not a certainty –
Facts like these can’t be denied:
That’s the truth, at 55.
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