Youth embraces stereotypes of the elderly

For a long time I thought I was boring or maybe just a nerd. Why? Well, I enjoy sewing decorative pillows and cross-stitching. I relieve stress by scrapbooking. On rainy afternoons, I enjoy a good book and a hot cup of tea.

I don’t read many magazines. But when I do, it is usually Good Housekeeping because I can find recipes I want to experiment with for the week’s meals. Besides, they usually have some clever craft instruction to help me further organize my closet.

I prefer records to CDs. The sound quality is infinitely better. “Gone With the Wind” is probably my favorite movie of all time. I agree with about 95 percent of what Andy Rooney says on “60 Minutes.”

My friends always jokingly call me “mom” because I frequently enforce the importance of vegetable consumption. And I always insist we stop by The Container Store whenever we drive by it because they have such clever solutions for modern storage.

Some of my current goals include making bread pudding the way my grandmother does, finishing “The Catcher in the Rye” (read for pleasure) and planting a small herb garden for the summer.

I’ve always been partial to staying up late; but in the past three years, I’ve noticed I start to nod off during the 10 p.m. news, which I watch regularly.

A revelation occurred after I told my sister to turn the volume on her stereo down for the third time, and she asked a startling question: “Oh my gosh! What’s it like being 60?!?!”

Sixty? Why would she say that?

But her question and the “mom” remarks from my friends got me thinking. Maybe I wasn’t nerdy and dull. Maybe I was just an old person in a young person’s body. I had trouble accepting this.

I told myself I was just a normal, young college student. I tried to convince myself I was reckless and carefree with no regard for authority. Who was I kidding?

Then while walking to class one rainy morning, I bumped into a friend who would unknowingly seal my fate as an old soul. “How are you today?” she asked.

“Oh, fine thanks.” I replied. “My hip hurts a little bit. It always acts up when the weather is damp.”

I looked around to see who said that, only to realize it was I confessing bodily pain induced by damp weather.

At that moment I abandoned my hopes of embracing my wild and crazy years and accepted the fact I just act old some times.

At least I know how to sew on buttons and use vinegar as a cleaning product.