I've been called many things as a professor, some affectionately and some definitely "unaffectionate," to say the least. I take pride in being somewhat of a "curmudgeon," and a
|"Old Timer," 3"x4" pen and ink|
I'll also admit to have recently completed another revolution of the sun, and while I'm older, I don't really feel it, or act like it, or think that way--for the most part. I'm not known for patience with slow people, or moving slowly, either walking or driving. Just ask those who will still ride with me. I like being around younger people (not necessarily their music though). Male vanity being what it is, I do refer to myself as "old" sometimes to get some pity or compliments, but I do my best not to look or sound old, and try to at least not be a dinosaur. I like change and new ideas. There's so much new exciting stuff to learn.
But I guess it's all for "naught "(there's an old term).
So I was standing at the copier today, getting ready for class, outside a colleague's office behind me. She had a student in there, and from the conversation, I knew he was leaving. With my back turned, I didn't hear him coming, and moved into the door way.
This tall handsome kid with a big smile bumped into me, grabbed me so I wouldn't fall, and quickly and non-chalantly said,
"Oh, excuse me, 'Old Timer.'" He laughed, I laughed and we went our separate ways.
It sunk in. So that's what I look like? That's what they think? I walked down the hall to the office and told a younger professor (they're all younger these days) and our young administrative assistant, and they started laughing, with me. Now that I think about it, they were probably laughing, as they thought, "He probably gets it now."
What's your image of an "Old Timer"? Mine is an old fart with a grizzled beard, stooped over, wearing a dirty slouch hat, suspenders over a plaid shirt holding up baggy pants, walking with a cane and shuffling along.
I went in to tell my slightly younger wife about being an "Old Timer," and mentioned Gabby Hayes.
"Who's Gabby Hayes?" Susan asked. I told her. "Must be from your generation," said she.
"Well 'tarnation and dadgummit," sez this "Old Timer." Where are my suspenders?