[By Merlin Lessler]<\/p>\n
I bumped into this guy (not literally) in the locker room at the YMCA a few weeks ago. He came out of the gym; I came out of the pool. We were in sort of an undeclared race to get dressed. He was pretty nimble, impressively so. I asked him how old he was. (It\u2019s considered OK for old guys to ask other old guys how old they are.) <\/span>\u201cEighty-eight,\u201d he responded. I told him I was 83 and a half. He said, \u201cYou look pretty good for your age.\u201d I said, \u201cYou look pretty good for your age.\u201d It\u2019s a rule; us old guys say this to each other. It makes us feel good. <\/span><\/p>\n A week later, I ran into him sitting on a bench, leaning down and putting on his socks. Not an easy task. I said, \u201cHi eighty seven.\u201d He said, \u201cI\u2019m eighty eight.\u201d I said, \u201cNow I remember.\u201d <\/span>I knew it would be much easier to remember a number than a name. I came close. When I meet an old guy like this, it\u2019s what I do. Trouble is they have a birthday, and I have to expunge the old \u201cname\u201d in my head. But, we don\u2019t care if we get or give the wrong age or name. It\u2019s no big deal. We know each other\u2019s brain compartment that holds names is slow on the uptake. There is a young guy (in his thirties) in the locker room eating an apple every day. I never asked him his name; I just started calling him Apple-Boy. He chuckles every time I do that. <\/span><\/p>\n