DEPARTMENT:

Turning 50

When the first letter from AARP came, I immediately tossed it in the trash can. AARP deals with old people, retired people, I thought. I’m not old and I’m not retired. This must be a mistake.

When the second letter came, I also threw it directly into the circular file.

Then a third AARP letter appeared in my mailbox. Annoyed, I opened it to find out who the sender was so I could get my name removed from the mailing list.

“Dear Ms. Cheryl C. Tsutsumi”, wrote AARP Executive Director William D. Novelli. “Our records show that you haven’t yet registered for the benefits of AARP membership even though you are fully eligible. As a member, you’ll have the resources and information you need to get the most out of life over 50.”

Fully eligible for AARP membership? Me?!

Yes, I turned 50 in September. When you hit 50, I’d always thought, you’re over-the-hill. You’re old.

I hate to admit that when I was born, Eisenhower was president; Hawaii was a territory; and Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and Bill Haley and the Comets were at the top of the music charts. Hard drive, software, jpeg and e-mail weren’t in the American vocabulary, and hybrid referred to plants and animals, not cars.

Of course, I’d known for awhile that my Big Day was approaching. Five years ago, I remember sitting on the floor of my bedroom organizing a video presentation for my son’s high school graduation party.

For hours that afternoon, I relived Matthew’s life through pictures that had been tucked away in cardboard boxes for years. The infant with rice cereal smeared all over his face, the toddler sitting on Santa’s lap, the young boy chasing pigeons at the zoo — where had the time gone?

I looked at hundreds of pictures of Matthew that day and cried. I missed my baby so much but he was forever gone; he was all grown up. That meant I was older too.

Another loud wake-up call came just a few days before my Big Day. My 87-year-old mother spends the night at my house twice a week. That Friday morning, she decided to go downstairs to pick up the newspaper. “Good idea,” I told her as I started to wash the breakfast dishes.

She didn’t return. Terrified, I flew out the door and found her sitting on the sidewalk in front of my house, unable to move. She had tried to pick up the paper on my sloping driveway and fallen.

Fortunately, all she suffered was a broken wrist. She went through surgery and three months of physical therapy, but the situation could’ve been far worse.

That incident reminded me once again that Mom isn’t and never again will be the same — the person who could walk a dozen laps around Kahala Mall at a brisk pace, who was a meticulous housekeeper, who always was there to do things for me, whether it be dropping off dry cleaning or picking up a head of lettuce.

Mom walks very slowly now, with a shuffle. Her memory is poor and her hearing is impaired. My siblings and I take care of her bills, her errands, her medications. The experts call it “role reversal”; in midlife I’m a parent again — to my mother.

My Big Day came and passed with little fanfare. At 50, I find I’m the consummate juggler. On a recent day, I took Matt’s car in for repairs, made a Longs run for Mom, attended a business lunch, did an interview, finished a major story and cooked chicken curry for dinner. To perform that kind of balancing act, you’ve got to have more energy than a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.

I don’t know where I got the idea that when you hit 50, you’re “old.” I don’t feel old. In fact, I’m busier now than I’ve been at any other time in my life.

So why am I on AARP’s mailing list? I just received my fourth letter from them and although I may be fully eligible for membership, I’m not ready to join. — Cheryl Chee Tsutsumi

Humorous, touching, inspiring, thought-provoking — we welcome your personal observations about Life After 50. E-mail your 800-word essay and phone number to Editor Cheryl Chee Tsutsumi at cheryl@tradepublishing.com or send them to her c/o Trade Publishing, 287 Mokauea Street, Honolulu, Hawaii 96819. By doing so, you grant Generations Hawaii’s editorial staff the right to edit your submission at their discretion.

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