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By Jase Graves

On my birthday this year, I’ll turn 55 years old. I’m not sure that’s an impressive milestone, but I do believe it's the average shelf life of the bottle of Worcestershire sauce in the back of most American refrigerators.

The other day, I was talking to a young person — meaning someone who never utilized a dial telephone to determine the exact time and temperature — who told me they hope they look as good as I do when they turn 55. Naturally, I took that as a compliment, and then started wondering what, exactly, a 55-year-old male-type-person should look like. Apparently, I should bear a striking resemblance to Gollum from The Lord of the Rings.

I guess I have made it a point in the past few years to hang on to whatever youthfulness of mine hasn’t already disappeared into the same unreachable dimension where my lost socks and my three semi-grown daughters’ missing bra pad thingies go.

For instance, I still try to work out several times a week­ — though not with the same intensity as I did in my lavishly mulleted days in the 1980s. Back then, the weight room was my second home, and I blew most of my allowance on Dynamic Muscle Builder Protein Powder and Panama Jack #6 Dark Tanning Oil. Ah, I can still smell that rich aroma of artificial coconut mixed with UV rays and freshly caramelized epidermis!

Nowadays, when I go to the gym, I mostly take turns with elderly women on the machine weights. And sometimes they give me tips on how to get properly swole.

I’ve also managed, so far, to hang on to my dark, thick hair, which I inherited from my mother. I used to feel a bit insulted and emasculated when people told me I looked like Mom, but now I’m relieved that at least they don’t tell me I look like a decomposing iguana. As far as my secret to maintaining gray-free hair is concerned, that’s between me, God, and the lady who cuts and may or may not do other highly-classified things to it.

In addition to my efforts to stave off bodily putrefaction, I strive to stay current with the latest fashion trends. For example, I sometimes ask my daughters what shoes the “cool guys” are wearing these days so I’ll know what to buy. Once they’ve caught their breath from acute fits of laughter, they continue to snort and sputter as they direct me to websites featuring footwear that costs roughly the same as a semester of college tuition.

Finally, I do my best to keep up with the modern music scene. Although I maintain my love for tunes from the 1980s, back when making music required actual talent (along with a generous supply of Aqua Net hairspray and synthesizers), I’ve learned to appreciate modern artists like Benson Boone, Del Water Gap, Noah Kahn, and lots of other current singers that my daughters enjoyed until I started adding them to my Spotify playlist. Nothing ruins budding pop musicians’ careers like a 50-something-year-old geezer jamming to their songs with the car windows down on the way to a regularly scheduled colonoscopy.

Of course, I realize that aging is inevitable, and that, probably sooner than later, what’s left of my muscles, hair, sense of fashion, and musical taste will descend into irredeemable fossilhood. Until then, though, I’m determined to stay as young at heart as possible, even if it means re-growing my mullet.

—Jase Graves

Jason (Jase) Graves is a national award-winning humor columnist, a married father of three daughters, a lifelong resident of Longview, Texas, and a Texas A&M Aggie. He writes about home and family issues from a humorous perspective for the Cagle Cartoons syndicate and his blog. Other than writing, his primary hobby is sleeping as late as possible. His winning Nickie’s Prize for Humor Writing essay, “The Sisterhood of the Giggling Rants,” is included in Sisters! Bonded by Love and Laughter, published by the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. His piece, “Victoria’s Worst-Kept Secret,” is included in Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Crazy Family.