A Humble Request

Dear American Males Over Seventy,

I believe that life is, among other things, one long process of becoming comfortable in your own skin. Different people progress towards varying levels of self-assurance along vastly divergent timelines. In seventh grade, most of us would rather be immolated than say three words in front of a crowded room of strangers, while others of us are inspiring massive fits of parental weeping via our portrayal of Emily in Our Town. Nonetheless, everyone deals with some sort of crushing personal dissatisfaction at various points in their lives. This is part of being human. The process of life, therefore, is one of A) eliminating the dissatisfying bits or B) learning to live with them. Yes, there is also C) Neither of the above, resulting in the need for group therapy or heavy medication, but that's a story for another letter, one not addressed to you, seventy-year old American men.

What I'm getting at here is the B) much more than the A). As people get older, they successfully (and often rightly) decide that they no longer give a crap about how they are perceived by others. This is a pretty fantastic process to go through in a lot of ways, as it results in freedom from the irrational and crushing opinions of a lot of utter morons, including both complete strangers and your family. People cut through a great deal of passive-aggressive nonsense, take increasing control over their lives, and stop caring whether or not they are embarrassing their fifteen-year-old children when they pick them up from lacrosse practice wearing sandals and dress socks.

There is, however, one massive problem with this increasing apathy towards public opinion, aside from the skyrocketing rate of suicide among teenage lacross players. This problem occurs when you, American septuagenarians, decide to increase your life expectancy via physical fitness. While I am not against this choice per se, it is a choice that frequently leads you to occupy gym locker rooms, and some of these locker rooms are also occupied by me. Again, no objections just yet. However, because you have got seven-plus decades of well-tuned apathy for the opinions of others under your belts, you have become completely impervious to the aesthetic nightmare that is your extended public nudity.

I don't want you to think, dearly respected elders, that I am singling you out simply because of your aged physical state. As a personal policy, I am against any extended public male nudity regardless of the perpetrator. I focus my concern in your general direction, however, because personal experience dictates that you care less than the other age demographics about the frequency and duration of said nudity.

And so there you sit, completely naked, on the locker room bench after an invigorating shower, contemplating which sock to put on first. Or perhaps you are standing, resplendent in your pale, droopy, hairyness, stretching a tight hamstring, counting your armpit hairs, or staring blankly at the wall. Frequently you are even making the long walk from the showers to your locker, holding a towel IN YOUR HAND while the wobbling, the jiggling, and especially the dangling burns out the retinas of those of us who still believe in shame.

Again, I offer you my most sincere congratulations and respect for the level of self-assurance that your aged wisdom has brought to you. If, however, you don't start covering the hell up, no amount of respect will save you from the vengeful, blind (possibly literally, depending on the number of exposures to your wangly-danglies) wrath of the more youthful, decent denizens of the locker room.

Sincerely,
Tyler