How Young People and Old People Tell the Same Story


Every day I find myself having frequent and often lengthy discussions with people from all walks of life. Sometimes these conversations occur in formal settings, other times they’re completely casual and impromptu. They happen one-on-one, in groups, and include all manner of subjects.

So I’m just as likely to be talking to an 80 year-old about something as I am to be speaking with a 20 year-old. Sometimes, I’m even conversing with both of them on the same topic at the same time. And this is where I’ve done the most observation regarding just how differently young and old people will tell the same story.

Let’s create a hypothetical scenario for the sake of this blog. The facts are simple and were observed by both of the people telling the story: a guy in a sports car ran a red light and ended up running into another car. No one was hurt, but the sports car was totaled.

Young Person’s Version: “So yesterday I was on my lunch break, and I’m standing out in front of work making a call. Anyway, in the middle of the call I hear this really loud noise coming from the intersection next to the parking lot. I look over and see some guy in a black Camaro blow through the red light and get t-boned by one of those big moving trucks. I still can’t believe how loud it was. Everyone was alright, but that Camaro was just destroyed. I took a picture of it with my phone. Want to see it? You gotta see this.”

Old Person’s Version: “Yesterday I was driving to the grocery store to pick up some hand lotion, because my hands always get so dry and start cracking around this time of year. I was getting that, oh, what is it called? Lubriderm. Is that what it is? It’s something like that. Lubriderm. That doesn’t sound right. Well, I had to get to the store before 10:00 because I was going to an early lunch with Bob Morgan. Bob Morgan is a friend of mine whom I met back when I was working at the bank. His wife Shirley is just lovely. Lovely. She’s an amazing cook too. You simply have to try a slice of her rhubarb pie. So while I was stopped at the red light at 32nd St. and Shea, this car comes speeding along next to me. It was one of those, oh, I don’t know what they’re called. It’s one of those racing cars that those guys drive on TV. You know those guys. What are those guys called? It reminded me of a car that Stan Foster used to have. He called it “Black Beauty.” It was black and it had a bright yellow stripe on it. And he used to drive that thing and just drive it all over Brooksville and just speed all up and down the streets like a madman. Of course, he gave that up years ago so that he could pay for his RV. But I guess it’s all worth it, because he drives that RV everywhere. I mean everywhere. Last year he took it all the way to the Canadian border. Of course he didn’t end up going into Canada because he doesn’t have a passport. I’m not sure why he never got one. I’ll have to ask him the next time I see him. We’re supposed to play golf the next time he’s in town. I’ll ask him then. Boy, I sure like butterscotch.”




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