Great Grandfather Grinch
I am a great-grandfather. All my beautiful friends lined up to pour out good wishes, and I felt blessed. But it’s not my fault! Not my choice! Just my fate…it feels strange people “congratulating” me. What – for having survived this long? If I had been the father at age 67 I would have deserved congratulations- for having successfully bonked a young and beautiful woman, without being as rich as Trump. Or Murdoch. Or even Paul McCartney. If an old and POOR guy snags a young and beautiful woman, don’t just congratulate him, measure his dick. Have the woman’s sanity and intelligence tested, to ensure she is an informed consenting adult.
Perhaps there is such a thing as a gerontophile. Hah! Spellcheck does not know the word, so there probably isn’t and I’ve just invented it. Definition: a young person who finds geriatrics sexually exciting. Well, there may be one. Or maybe two. If there is and by an incredible chance you are reading this, you know my email address. Don’t bother sending a photograph, I don’t care if you are masculine or feminine, neuter or animal, let’s meet under the clock at Times Square.
I am of course joking, but let’s face it, for the young the idea of an older person either having sex or even desiring it is quite revolting. This is perfectly natural: we are programmed to seek sex when we are of an age to have children, and to avoid sex with anyone not likely to contribute to that genetic imperative. As far as I’m concerned, I lost my sexual self-confidence ages ago and am always amazed if someone shows an interest. I would as soon chase sex as I would chase the role of Hamlet at the National. It would be nice but, really, no point.
So how does being a great-grandfather feel? Old. But I felt that yesterday. Proud? Why on earth should I feel proud! Yes, I feel a lot of affection for my son and his son and his daughter, they’re all nice people. I don’t know the grandson’s spouse but I’m sure she’s nice people too. But the fact they can all have sex is of no real consequence to me, it’s part of the genetic imperative.
Heigh ho. Thanks for all your lovely congratulations and good wishes. Apologies for being such a grinch.