Weeks into 50, I guess it's now time to RSVP to the AARP

I looked inside my mailbox the other day and right away recognized the letter from the AARP. I recognized it because it was the third time I had received it. One of those times even occurred before I turned 50 on March 28.

I’m reminded of what my Cousin Mike told me when he wished me a Happy Birthday. I made a joke about needing to sign up for an AARP membership. Mike, who is five years older, told me not to worry. The AARP would find me.

Mike was right about that. I can’t remember the last time someone or some group had tried so aggressively to recruit me for something based entirely on an age I had just turned. No one asked me to run for president when I finally became eligible at age 35. I didn’t hear from any Beer of the Month Clubs when I turned 21.

I guess you’d have to go back to when I turned 18 and was notified I needed to sign up with the Selective Service.

I set out to comply with that U.S. citizenship requirement on my 18th birthday in 1990. After school let out for the day, I reported to the post office, where I heard such registrations took place.

Actually, to be accurate, I headed to the building next door to the post office.

“I’m here to sign up,” I told the guy in the uniform.

He asked me why I was interested in signing up.

“Today’s my birthday,” I explained. “My understanding is that I need to sign up for the service.”

I could see the man working something out in his head. After a few seconds, he smiled.

“Which service?” he asked.

“I think it’s called the Selective Service,” I replied.

And that’s how I almost unwittingly enlisted into a branch of the United States military on my 18th birthday. Instead of reporting to the post office, I went to the military recruitment office, which was adjacent to the post office.

The serviceman directed me to the post office, where I dutifully registered with the Selective Service. Then I headed to college, not boot camp, in the fall.

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But back to the AARP, formerly known as the American Association of Retired Persons. I understand that I am now eligible for membership but have always wondered why the organization is not called the American Association of People Who Are At Least 50 Years Old. Maybe because the acronym would not be as catchy? All I know is that I am still quite far from retirement. With the way things are going in this country, I fully expect the retirement age in the United States to be raised from 67 to the moment of death.

Cousin Mike was right to say the AARP would find me. And find me. And find me. And, evidently, keep finding me until I respond. But here’s the thing: I’m happy to be found. When it comes to signing up for AARP membership, I’ve just been doing what I’ve been doing for 50 years: procrastinating.

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For the AARP, the third time was the charm. I finally opened the mail they kept sending me. And I like what I found inside: for just $16, I can get a monthly magazine, savings on medication and eyewear, discounts on everything from food services to traveling accommodations, and an advocate for protecting Social Security, Medicare, and affordable health insurance.

But here’s the clincher – here’s what really seals the deal for me: if I sign up for membership, I will get a free insulated trunk organizer. That will make things right, as I was so disappointed not to get one for my 50th birthday.

I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m enjoying being 50. So far, anyway. I’m aware that I am only six weeks into my fifties and that this coming sixth decade will present its own challenges, just like the previous five did. That’s life. But so far, as though some kind of wand has been magically waved, I feel like I have a new lease on life. Just by virtue of turning 50, I feel like I have been welcomed to the earliest ranks of elder statesmanship. I feel like challenging old notions and ways and trying new approaches.

“Fifty is liberating,” a friend told me.

I agree. But I dunno. Maybe this is just the ease and euphoria that follows the admittedly anxious countdown to 50 that characterized my dwindling forties.

Either way, I’ll take it. That and the new insulated trunk organizer.

Shawn P. Sullivan is an award-winning columnist and is a reporter for the York County Coast Star. He can be reached at ssullivan@seacoastonline.com.

This article originally appeared on Portsmouth Herald: Weeks into 50, I guess it's now time to RSVP to the AARP