Skimming through a photo album the other day, I paused at a group picture taken a few years ago on a vacation we took with a bunch of friends. Most of the people in the shot were instantly recognizable, but the man at the far left was only vaguely familiar.

“Who’s the old guy standing next to Maggie?” I asked my wife.

“That’s you, sweetheart.”

“No, no. I mean the guy on the other side. The one with the gray hair and turkey neck.”

“That’s you, sweetheart.”

I looked at the photo a while longer and then I made a promise to myself: I’m never going to let another photo be taken of me. At least, not with that camera.

Because the image of the guy in the photo looks absolutely nothing like the picture of the guy in my mind.

The guy in the photo is, undeniably, a senior.

The guy in my mind is, at most, somewhere in the vicinity of middle age, which is where he’s been for the past couple of decades.

The guy in the photo clearly is a grandfather.

The guy in my mind may be a grandfather, but only because he was a child groom and got an early start on fatherhood.

The guy in the photo has a pretty hefty gut on him.

The guy in my mind needs a tiny bit of firming up that a few days at the gym would take care of.

The guy in the photo won’t have any trouble getting a seniors’ discount when he buys a movie ticket.

The guy in my mind always wonders why the ticket seller never asks him for proof of age.

There are, to be sure, some realities that force me to concede that the picture in my mind may be a little out of focus. The events my grandkids may be reading about in their history books, for instance, aren’t history to me. They’re memories. And I have to admit that my tennis game is mediocre these days, but I can take comfort in the fact that it’s always been mediocre.

There are all sorts of slogans crocheted on pillows that are supposed to make you feel better about this getting older deal. Stuff like, “Age is a state of mind” and “You’re only as old as you feel.”

They mean well, but they’re a little short on specifics.

Do they mean you’re only as old as you feel in the morning when it takes you 30 seconds to ease your way out of bed and another minute and a half to creak your way to the bathroom? Or do they mean you’re only as old as you feel on Friday night after you’ve had three Margaritas and you’re ready to boogie until dawn or until your wife drags you home, whichever comes first?

So maybe there’s only one way I’m ever going to reconcile the photo in the album with the picture in my mind.

Photoshop.

Contact D.L. Stewart at dlstew_2000@ yahoo.com.