This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

One morning when I was in high school, my mom announced that we were having pancakes for breakfast. I said, "Outasight!" The word was barely out of my mouth before the Old Man was on me.

Him: "Where did you just tell your mother to go?"

Me: "Ack!"

Head pinned to the table, I explained that the phrase meant supreme satisfaction with something. It was neither insult nor a command, but rather high praise.

That was the day I realized I was smarter than the Old Man. I'd long suspected the possibility, but now it couldn't be denied. He had passed out of style.

Suddenly, the world was full of important information my father didn't know a damn thing about, information that really mattered when it came to understanding how life worked.

For example, the Old Man didn't have a clue who Jim Morrison was. I couldn't believe it when I brought up the name of the lead singer of The Doors and he said, "Who's that?"

It was the same with Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Eric Clapton. He actually asked if they were friends of mine. I wished.

Him: "Does this Jimi kid use drugs?"

Me: "Ah, um, I've never seen him do any."

My father was 36 when this conversation occurred. Biologically and psychologically, he was supposedly in his prime. I would have laughed if I'd heard that back then. My peers and I knew that life went downhill rapidly after the legal drinking age.

Once, after an incident at school, I told my father that he was too old to get what I was going through.

Me: "You just don't understand the difference."

Him: "Really? I've been 15 before. Have you been 36 yet?"

Life does go downhill. My father is 84 now. Not only does he still not know who Jim Morrison was, last week he fell sound asleep in the middle of a meeting with his accountant.

But going downhill doesn't have to be a bad thing if you have company. Recent proof of this was a talk I gave at the Sandy Senior Center last week.

I spoke to a group of about 150 really savvy old folks. Unlike presentations I've given at high schools and universities, these boomers understood everything I said. I didn't have to stop and explain who and what I was talking about.

Being old and broken down was now a plus. As long as a person could string a coherent question together, they had something to say that I could relate to.

Earlier this week, I spoke to a writing class at Herriman High School. During the Q&A period, one of the students used his only question on something presumably vital to the artistic process: "How old are you?"

I had to concede the importance of the point. After all, I still believe that a person's age is a factor when it comes to whether they should be taken seriously.

Sixty-two is probably long past my sell-by date, but that's OK. I've long since realized that 15 is a prelarval stage. How much can you know about life when you aren't even all the way out of the cocoon yet?

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley