When We Were Very Young

At the bank today, the teller called me "Ma'am."

Every so often I catch myself doing something I'm probably too old to do, like today at the grocery store. In a brief moment of youthfulness, I hopped on the back of my shopping cart and rode down the aisle. I had to stop when I rounded the corner and almost hit a young father and his son.

Last weekend at a wedding in Midway, when the DJ turned up K-Ci and Jo Jo, I was one step short of joining the conga line (full of teenagers). And sometimes at Young Women's, I forget I'm one of the leaders.

I guess there are worse things than singing so loud in the car you don't hear the fire engine coming. (Thank goodness for flashing lights.) And perhaps if no one sees you lick the spatula before slipping it into a sink full of suds no one will ever know.

But back to the grocery store today: As I was pulling out of the parking lot, an elderly man shuffled towards me. His gnarled knuckles held tight to the handle of his cart. In the rear view mirror I read his clenched lips: Now where's my car? He put one foot on the bottom rung of the cart and kicked up the other. As I pulled away he was happily sliding down the parking lot, hopefully in the direction of his car.